


All the World's a Stage

by QuestionableLiteraryMerit



Category: Glee, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuestionableLiteraryMerit/pseuds/QuestionableLiteraryMerit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural! The Musical? Zachariah and Meg find two new vessels for Michael and Lucifer in the form of McKinley High School students. Sam and Dean must infiltrate the Glee Club (with the help of some faerie magic) in order to gather clues, save lives, and stop the Apocalypse once and for all. Chapters 1-4 will feature songs by The Carpenters, Death Cab for Cutie, Jackson Brown, Jessica Simpson, Kylie Minogue, Jakob Dylan, Britney Spears, and Rufus Wainwright.</p><p>Updated with Chapter Three: "Performance Anxiety"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. White Lace and Promises (Prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> TIMELINES: I'll be attempting to stay within minimal canon guidelines for both TV shows. For those who care, this story meshes continuity that takes place during the middle of Season Two for Glee and the end of Season Five for Supernatural (before Adam is brought back from the dead but after “Changing Channels”). 
> 
> Two conscious canon differences : Kurt is NOT transferred to Dalton after Dave Karofsky is allowed to come back to school after the events of Kurt/Finn's parent's wedding in "Furt." However, Kurt does occasionally see Blaine at The Lima Bean. They have a casual friendship that is thick with unrequited love on Kurt’s part, but Kurt is firmly planted at McKinley without Blaine right now. Don't worry about keeping track, I'll provide exposition as we go.
> 
> Second, Glee Season 3 newbie characters have been displaced from their proper timeline and are now being used for Supernatural purposes. I can’t reveal too much right now because I have some surprises planned for later, but to give you an idea what I’m talking about- Rory Flanagan is an *actual* Leprechaun in this universe. Make of that what you will.
> 
> A note for shippers, John/Mary is here, but only in the prologue and epilogue. Sam/Gabriel is going to take a little time to develop properly because I want to do it justice... But hang in there! I promise it's coming :)
> 
> Special thanks to Anna/creatureofgrace.tumblr.com (my official Narrative Consultant for this fic), and Andi/reinaduciel.tumblr.com (for all her feedback and support).

John Winchester stole a furtive glance at his wife. He didn’t want to stare too long because he was driving, but the look on Mary’s face worried him enough that he decided it was time to prod.

“We should reach Lawrence by nightfall if we keep at this pace,” he said cheerfully, hoping to provoke some sort of reaction. Mary had been unusually quiet ever since breakfast.

Mary barely whispered an affirmative response as she continued to stare out her window. John heaved a heavy sigh and furrowed his brow, uncertain how best to proceed.

“I know this hasn’t been an ideal trip…” he paused. “Certainly nothing like what you’d see in the movies,” he added with a sad smile. “I wish we didn’t have to stay at two star motels and eat at greasy spoon diners while we’re traveling. It’s just that…I just wanted to save up a little, you know? For the house, and-”

“I understand.” Mary interrupted. “ _Really_ , I do!” Her face contorted in regret as it finally began to process the sound of disappointment that had been embedded in John’s voice.

 “Anywhere we go and anything we do is fine, John. I don’t need to sleep in fancy hotels or eat at expensive restaurants to have a good time. It’s our honeymoon…” she explained as she tucked a few stray blonde hairs behind her ears.

 “I just need you.”

She looked up at him and smiled earnestly, hoping to make up for the distance she had unknowingly imposed earlier while she was lost in thought.

John nodded and smiled back at her.

He returned his eyes to road, satisfied with this answer for the time being.

Mary glanced out the passenger window for a moment to consider the blur of trees that they were passing by. “I think my favorite part of the trip was hiking through the Tennessee woods,” she mused aloud, turning back to regard John. “It was so lush and quiet. I’ve never been anywhere so quiet before. I swear, when we were in the middle of that forest and there was nothing but leaves and light and shadow all around us, I thought for a second that I could actually _hear_ your heart beating.”

“Well,” John said with mischievous grin. “It _does_ pound a little faster whenever I’m with you.”

Mary laughed. It was a sweet, throaty chuckle. Warm and vulnerable. A rare enough event that John cherished every note of it that he could catch.

“Stop it, Cyrano! You don’t have to lay it on quite so thick anymore,” she said as she gently slapped his shoulder. Mary laughed in his face and wiggled her fingers, making her gold wedding band glint in the morning sun. She yanked her hand back and continued to giggle happily at her husband.

Mary was never prone to much joviality before she met John. It always pained him when he considered the reasons why that was so, but nevertheless, John swelled with pride knowing he was the one person who _could_ make her laugh. He was the one person who knew how to light up her face with the joy it deserved to reflect. He recalled the winking gold on her finger and realized that it would be his duty (and pleasure) to continue do so again and again in the future.

John smiled at the thought, but in spite of the newfound lightness in the car, he couldn’t bring himself to completely ignore his original concern.

“I’m glad you’re happy. I just needed to make sure you were having a good time. You- you seemed worried about something earlier.”

“I was just thinking.” Mary said, turning to face the window again. “Thinking about my parents. Thinking about you. And me. The future. _Our_ future…” Her voice trailed off, lost with the passing landscape.

John Winchester nodded. Despite his best intentions to remain upbeat, he had to admit that the same thoughts had been plaguing him throughout their honeymoon as well.

The circumstances surrounding Mary’s parent’s deaths were strange and unnerving. The tragedy had left a cloud over the young couple and their nuptial plans. Every course of action leading up to their wedding had been undertaken with an air of melancholy. Each savored moment could only ever be, even at its very best, bittersweet.

John was never unsure about his commitment to Mary. The only thing that scared him was the thought of failing her, especially since he was the closest relation she had left in the world. Indeed, since John was not on the best of terms with his parents, the two newlyweds had only each other to cleave to in the face of adversity.

A strange force had invaded their lives ever since Mary’s parent’s died. Because her father didn’t approve of John, there had always been _some_ kind of tension in the background of their relationship, but this new pressure was something entirely different. Its presence was as impossible to describe as it was to evade. It was the shadow of doubt that he had seen a moment earlier on Mary’s face. It was the scratching anxiety that prowled the corners of his dreams. It was fear. It was uncertainty. It was the countenance of dreadfulness.

John wanted to chalk it up to grief. Yes, they were simply _grieving_ for all they had lost. These feelings- These terrible feelings were surely a part of that natural process. They had to be. What other explanation was there?

But deep down, in his heart, John Winchester knew better. On some level, he knew that he and Mary weren’t in mourning for the things they had lost.

They were both mourning something that they knew they could never have.

John stiffened his lip. He knew he had to exude strength and certainty for what he would say next.

 “Don’t worry about the future, Mary.” John began. “I know things have been rough for us lately, but everything’s gonna work itself out. You’ll see.”

Mary glanced over at him with tired, hopeful eyes.

“You sound _awfully_ determined, John Winchester.”

“I am,” John said. “I’m not certain about many things in life, but this time I know what I’m talking about. Mary? I promise you…”

John paused here to swallow. He cleared his throat to assure that his words were spoken with the utmost confidence he could muster.

 “As long as I’m around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you.”

Upon hearing these words, Mary’s eyes started to gleam with tears. She wiped one away, trying to make it seem as though she had been scratching her cheek instead.

“Oh, John. You can’t promise a person something like that. You don’t know-“

 She caught herself.

“You…you just don’t know.”

And as soon as she dismissed the notion, a new thought brushed against Mary’s mind:

Was this her opening?

Could she finally tell him? Tell him _everything_?

The words stumbled out of her mouth from sheer nervousness.

“There are so many terrible things in this world, John. There are monsters and demons and wickedness and heartlessness and things…things that most people can’t even _begin_ to understand-”

“Hey,” John interrupted. “I know that some things are out of our control, but that promise isn’t from the world. It’s from _me_. And you know that I would give everything I had to keep from breaking it. You believe me when I say that, don’t you?”

Mary stifled a sniffle as she realized that this was not the time to tell him.

She wanted to cry as she realized she might _never_ be able to tell him.

But instead, she simply nodded along and forced a weak smile.

“Yes,” she said simply. “I do.”

It was the truth. Inasmuch as it could be the truth.

“Good.” John replied. He looked off to the side and began to chuckle.

Mary craned her head. Her mouth opened a little as she took in the absurdity of the scene.

“Why are you _laughing_?”

“When you said ‘ _I do_ ,’ it took me right back to our wedding.”

Mary brightened at the thought. “It was a beautiful ceremony.”

“Small,” John lamented.

“ _Modest_ ,” Mary corrected. “Just the way I’ve always wanted it.” Her eyes dulled for a moment. “I just wish we could have had more family there. That’s all”

“We will have more family.” John said. “One day.”

Mary looked forward at the wide horizon. She tilted her head back slightly.

“It really has been a lovely trip, John.”

“We’ll have to do it again one day. Once we have some rascals of our own.”

“Do what again? A trip? Like this one?” Mary asked with an edge of skepticism in her voice.

“Who’s talking about a few weeks?” John said with a derisive snort. “We’re going to make an entire _summer_ out of it!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that. Living on the road? With children? For that long?” Mary asked with a laugh. “Is it even humane? Won’t they get bored and cranky?”

“We’ll make a game out if it! We’ll visit every state. Ok, well, at the very least, we’ll _drive_ through every state. Along the way we can stop by all the national parks and museums.”

 “We can have picnics by the side of the road.”

“And we can camp, too! There’s so much that I’d like to teach our kids. How to fish. How to use a compass. How to hunt. We can sleep outside at least once every week and watch the stars.”

“I can show them all the constellations and teach them their names. My dad taught me when I was little.”

“Perfect! You can teach me too while you’re at it,” John said with a wink.

Mary barely noticed John’s gesture. She was getting excited now. Her mind was flooding with possibilities.

 “We can go hiking and swimming and biking…”

 “Every chance we get,” John affirmed. “And we’ll gather around the campfire every night. We’ll roast hot dogs and marshmallows and tell ghost stories too!”

“Well,” Mary said with a sad laugh as she recalled the very _different_ kinds of ghost stories that she had been told as a child, “Maybe we’re getting ahead of ourselves a little.”

“I suppose so,” John agreed. “Plenty of time to work out the details later but still, it’s fun to imagine.”

“I can already tell what you’ve been imagining,” Mary said with an accusatory grin on her face.

“What?” John asked innocently. “What am I imagining?”

“You’re picturing sons.”

“ _Sons_?” John repeated. He made sure his voice dripped with incredulity.

“Yes, of course ‘ _sons_ ,’” Mary said in perfect imitation. “Every man wants at least one. Snips and snails and puppydog tails. Tree forts and bugs and… _scabs_.” She emphasized the last word with breathless disgust. John laughed loudly.

 “You’ve got your heart set on two boys at best, John Winchester. And a whole baseball team at worst!”

 “I don’t care if we have boys or girls, but you’re half-right. I would like at least two. Just so that they can look out for each other.” John faced forward and kept his eyes locked on the road.

“I didn’t have that growing up. Someone to talk to. Someone to listen to. Someone to, I don’t know...” John’s voice died mid-sentence as his thoughts began to dwell on his own family’s problems. Mary quickly went into action.

“Well,” Mary said as she took his right hand. “You do now.”

She intertwined their fingers and squeezed tightly.

“You have someone. Someone to talk to. Someone to listen to,” she said with a wink.   

“And someone to…well, anything else you can think of!” she added with another one of her lyrical laughs.

John looked at her briefly and then returned his eyes to the road.

A sudden severity settled into his voice:

“You know, Mary. I love you more than anything in this world, but truthfully, I don’t know if that’s saying very much.”

Mary’s eyes narrowed in alarm.

“Why, John?”

“Because…you’re just so damn easy to love.”

Mary stared at John for a moment as she absorbed the magnitude of what he had just told her. She scooted toward him and spoke in a low voice.

“ _Stop the car,”_ Mary commanded.

John obediently pulled off to the side of the road. He looked at Mary, his forehead wrinkled with worry.

“Mary? Is everything o-“

John’s question was temporarily cut off by the presence of Mary’s lips engulfing his mouth. The kiss was hard and passionate, but somber as well. As Mary pulled away, John could have sworn that he felt a warm dampness streak across his face as their cheeks brushed against each other. 

“W-what was that for?” he asked as he gulped in air, trying to catch his breath.

“That was one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever said to me. And I just…I just wanted for you to hold onto that feeling for when-”

Mary paused.

“For when things _aren’t_ so easy.”

John nodded slowly. He leaned over to kiss her again this time, a chaste one compared to their earlier exchange. This kiss was short and quick. It punctuated some unspoken understanding that had passed between them.

John’s hands trembled as he reached for his keys and fired the ignition. He was still slightly stunned by the whole experience. Mary turned on the radio, always afraid that she had said too much too quickly.

John looked up, but was slightly embarrassed to meet her eyes so soon after their exchange. His gaze danced around the car while a piano began to play a familiar tune in the background. John watched Mary’s eyes sparkle with recognition.

 “Oh, John, listen!” Mary exclaimed as she pointed to the radio. “They’re playing our song!”

“Wait,” John said as the music finally registered in his head as well. He raised one skeptical eyebrow. “Since when is this _our_ song? I thought you were a Stones-girl!”

“ _Every_ girl has a weakness for The Carpenters. Didn’t you know that, _Mr_. Winchester?”

“I did not, _Mrs_. Winchester. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course I will. Ask me why.”

“Why?” John laughed.

“Because…” Mary bated her eyes and shrugged her shoulders in a flirtatious way.

She inhaled deeply, and then began to sing:

[**“We’ve Only Just Begun”** – The Carpenters](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=__VQX2Xn7tI)

_“We’ve_ _only just begun…to live._

_White lace and promises._

_A kiss for luck and we’re on our way_.”

Mary turned from John to dramatically face down the highway horizon.

_“Before the rising sun. We fly._

_So many roads to choose._

_We start out walking and learn to ruuuuuuun_.”

Mary was shocked when John chimed in.

 “ _Sharing horizons that are new to us._

 _Watching the signs along the way_.”

“You know the words?”

“Guilty pleasure,” John admitted as they continued to sing together.

“ _Talking it over just the two of us._

 _Working together day to day_.

 _Togetheeeer_.

_And when the evening comes we smile._

_So much of life ahead…_

_We’ll find a place where there’s room to grow._

“ _And yes, we’ve just begun_ ,” Mary sang. “ _We’ve only just begun_.”

“ _We’ve only beguuuun_ ,” they sang together in sweet harmony.

While the radio played on quietly, a silence settled between the young couple. With all this talk about new beginnings, Mary couldn’t help but consider endings as well.

She closed her eyes and recalled her meeting with the yellow-eyed demon. Mary bristled and lamented a peace of mind she knew she had lost forever. She pictured all the things she secretly knew she would never see her children do:

Attend their high school proms.

Throw their graduations caps up high into the air.

Fall in love. Get married.

Have children…

 “ _John_?” Mary asked, a hint of desperation tugging at the bottom of her voice.

“Yeah, Mary?”

“Tell me again about camping. T-tell me about us camping with our kids.”

“Well, gosh! Where do I even _begin_?” John asked with a grin before launching into a lecture about how to properly bait a hook.

As Mary Winchester leaned back in her seat, John regaled her with glorious epics about fly-fishing, rock-skipping, and firecrackers. She was utterly content to listen to her husband spin his tales of warmth and happiness as he tried to envision all the beautiful summers that they would spend together with their children. In this manner, John was always her saving grace. It was only when he painted these vibrant pictures for her that she found the strength to bear the thought of the coming years.

Because her future had been wretched from her life that fateful night so many months ago, Mary never trusted in the idea of “tomorrow.”  She never put much stock in the certainty of anything beyond the measure of the moment. But when John illustrated these stories for her using his vivid voice and his watercolor words- she could _pretend_ that she did.

She could cling to the courage of _his_ conviction and pretend that in spite everything that had happened to them and everything that would happen to them, they were all going to be just fine.

And, in fact, once she had listened to enough of John’s lovely stories…

Mary Winchester discovered that she no longer had to pretend at all.


	2. Annie, Get Your Rock Salt Gun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean have a rude awakening in the morning. Castiel dances the can-can. Becky! Chuck! And...faerie magic?

Dean’s eyes squinted as they adjusted to the morning light. The brightness wasn’t as offensive as it could have been, especially since it was being filtered through smoke-soaked hotel curtains, but still, it stung all the same. The dust motes could be seen clearly in this early, amber haze, floating through the air as if they were stars adrift in a honey sea.

The effect was momentarily mesmerizing.

Dean swung his legs off to the side of the bed and shambled over to Sam.

“Sammy. Wake up.” Dean said as he gently shook his brother’s shoulders. “S’morning. Gotta leave by 7:00 if we wanna beat traffic.”

Sam buried his face in his pillow. He let out a tiny, muffled grunt of protest, the same sort that he used to whimper as a kid. Dean couldn’t help but smirk at the memory.

Sam lifted his head and turned to face Dean. He smiled lazily, mumbled something unintelligible that confirmed he had heard his brother clearly, and then fell back into the pillow, assuming his original position. Dean rolled his eyes, shrugged, and made his way to the bathroom sink. He figured it couldn’t hurt to go ahead and let the kid sleep in a little, especially given the circumstances.

Ever since Lucifer started stalking him in his dreams, Sam had been unable to get a good night’s rest. Dean didn’t know all the details, but Sam had explained that frequent visitations from everyone’s favorite fallen angel usually precipitated some pretty horrific nightmares, which lead to a lot of sleepless nights on Sam’s part. Thankfully, in the last few weeks, the pattern had shifted. The visitations ceased and the nightmares vanished. This simultaneously thrilled Dean _and_ made him uneasy.

Sam finally being able to sleep in peace was a huge weight off his big brother’s chest, but the question was: If Lucifer wasn’t busy poking around in Sam’s skull, then what was he up to?

“ _Better just enjoy it while we can_ …” Dean thought to himself as he turned on the faucet and began to wash his face.

Sam shifted in bed when he heard the running water. He blinked and stood up.

Sam rubbed his nose, coughed into his hand, and then twisted his head in confusion. He narrowed his eyes and strained his ears. He had heard something strange.

 “ _Is that_ … _music_?” he thought to himself.

It was a gentle sound. A piano. Tinkling in the background...

At first Sam simply figured Dean had forgotten to turn off the TV or the radio alarm clock. He glanced over at the black box to confirm his suspicion… But it was dark.

Sam turned to the look at the alarm clock atop the bedside table.

Strange. It wasn’t flashing or blinking…

Sam held the device up to his ear, but nothing emanated from it. After that, the music got louder and sounded more widespread. Somehow, the tune seemed to overlay every other audible noise in the room, dampening both the honking cars outside as well as the rushing drone of the running water in the bathroom sink. It was a strange sensation; like having headphones on or being in a music video.

Dean didn’t pay the music any heed. He just applied a dab of Crest onto his toothbrush, and continued with his morning ritual.

While he started brushing, Sam scratched at his throat, coughed into his hand once more.

And then- Sam began to sing.

[**“Brothers on a Hotel Bed”** – Death Cab for Cutie](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtZq0Y3JMXQ)

“ _You may tire of me as our December sun is setting,_

 _‘cause I’m not who I used to be_ ,” Sam swallowed.

“ _No longer easy on the eyes,_

_but these wrinkles masterfully disguise…_

_the youthful boy below_.”

Dean rinsed his mouth with water and spat before he sang in reply.

 “ _He turned away and saw something he was not looking for._

 _Both a beginning and an end_ …”

Dean looked deep into the bathroom mirror, and then turned to glance at Sam.

 “ _And he now lives inside_

_someone he does not recognize_

_when he catches his reflection on accident.”_

Dean turned off the faucet He walked over to his bed and sat opposite his brother, staring him straight in the eyes the whole time. Sam continued the song.

“ _And I have learned-_

_that even landlocked lovers yearn_

_for the sea like navy men.”_

Sam stopped and Dean took over.

 “’ _Cause now we say goodnight_

_from our own separate sides._

_Like brothers on a hotel bed,”_ Dean sang while looking downward, unable to maintain eye contact with Sam any longer.

 “ _Like brothers on a hotel bed_.” Sam echoed. His brow was knitted in worry.

“ _Like brothers on a hotel bed_.” Dean sang.

“ _Like brothers on a hotel bed_.” They sang together.

The piano played out a few final notes, and then the music stopped all together.

They sat in silence for a moment until Dean spoke up.

“Wow. I have had some **messed** **up** dreams before, but this one takes the cake,” he announced, as he rose from the bed and walked back to the bathroom.

“ _You_ can’t be dreaming. _I’m_ the one who’s dreaming.” Sam said with a laugh. “Obviously.”

“No. This is _my_ dream,” Dean said with gentle firmness as he pointed his toothbrush toward himself. “And I can’t wait to wake up so we can leave this crappy motel and get some breakfast. I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Sam countered with a smile.

The smile fell flat as Sam started to muddle the situation over in his head. He looked around, blinked, and then quickly sprang up from the bed. Sam pinched his face and swatted at his body.

“Dean, I don’t think you’re dreaming. I don’t think either of us is dreaming.”

“Hey,” Dean said as he began to comb his hair. “Don’t you try to _Inception_ me, Dream Sam. We just had some sort of freaky R.E.M. _Everybody Hurts_ -moment together. This HAS to be a dream.”

Sam shook his head gently. His eyes were wide. “This can’t be a dream. I’ve never even _heard_ that song before. Have you?”

“No…” Dean answered cautiously.

“Well, then we can’t be dreaming, right? I mean, I don’t think either of us is creative enough to generate a whole song complete with lyrics and instrumentation in our sleep. Much less sing it together with that kind of musical direction.”  

“So…you’re telling me that we’re both awake and we just _spontaneously_ Julie Andrewsed our way through some song we don’t even know that _just so happened_ to express our inner turmoil?”

“I guess so. _Yes_?” Sam said, with a pained expression as he realized how odd his theory sounded.

“All right then,” Dean said with his hands at his hips. “Million dollar question, Sammy. If this _isn’t_ a dream, then where did all that music come from?”

The boys stared at each other for a minute, unable to fathom the scope of their predicament. Then, they simultaneously scrambled to look underneath their respective beds. When nothing was found, Sam held his ear to the wall and Dean began rummaging through their dresser drawers.

“CAS!” Dean shouted, panic beginning to creep into his voice now. “CAS!! Get down here NOW.”

He ran to the table and fumbled for his cell phone.

***

“How many times are you going to play that stupid song?” Dean asked from his bed. He was lying on his back and staring at the ceiling.

Sam looked up from his laptop and bitchfaced before answering.

“This isn’t pleasure listening, Dean! I downloaded it _specifically_ so that we could parse through the lyrics for clues.” Sam replied. “Plus, you shouldn’t knock it. This “stupid song” is the closest thing we have to evidence right now.”

“Well, would you lower the volume, already? It’s just so freakin’ sad…and _whiny_. The lead singer needs to take some Prozac or get laid or something.”

“You know, you’re right! I think _you_ sang it so much better.” Sam said with a laugh. “Your voice was just _made_ for ballads.”

 “Shut up.” Dean grumbled. “I already told you that I don’t want to talk about the details. Unless we’re discussing how to STOP whatever this is, we’re officially NOT talking about it. It never happened. It’s staying in Vegas.”

Sam smirked, lowered the volume slightly, and then went back to typing.

Dean covered his face with a pillow and let out a muffled sigh of exhaustion. Three hours had passed and they still had no solid leads. He turned sideways, threw the pillow off his face, and found Castiel hovering above him, eyes narrowed in concern.

Dean practically jumped out of the bed.

“ **Jesus** , **Cas**!” Dean sputtered, clutching his chest while he propped himself up on the bed. “Little warning next time, huh?”

 “Dean! Why were you prostrate? Has this strange magic left you fatigued or has it… _wounded_ you in some way?” Castiel asked anxiously.

“The only thing that’s wounded is his ego,” Sam interjected without even looking up from his computer.

Dean shot Sam a mean glare. He quickly returned his attention to Castiel.

“What’s the good word, Cas? Animal, vegetable, or wendigo?”

Castiel’s shoulders slumped in disappointment.

“I have found no evidence of any possible demonic influence that could be causing your bewitchment. Were you able to locate any hex bags in your car or in the room?”

“Negative,” Dean said with a sad shake of his head. He slowly leaned back on the bed.

“Cas, have you ever heard of anything like this before?” Sam asked. “Could it be angelic in nature? Some weird, pre-apocalyptic curveball courtesy Zachariah or Michael?”

“There have been times when divine inspiration touches human minds so that they begin to write or sing hymns of praise and worship, but no. I have never heard of the host using tactics like this before-”

“Oh!” Dean interrupted. “So you mean God never made anybody belt out a _Death Cab for Cutie_ song just for shits and giggles?”

Castiel was taken aback by Dean’s acridity. He flinched before answering.

“I-I do not know what a death cab is, but I am certain the answer is no.”

“Don’t mind Dean,” Sam said with a dismissive wave. “He’s just feeling awkward and vulnerable after baring his soul to me through song.”

“Hey! HEY! What gives, Sam? Vegas, man. VEGAS.”

“Why are you so weirded out by all this?” Sam asked in exasperation. “I mean, YES, it’s weird, but we _specialize_ in weird. We didn’t have to salt anything, burn anything, or bury anything. Count this as a win! Besides, didn’t singing about your feelings make you feel a little better afterwards? I mean, **I** feel better…”

“You would,” Dean sneered.

Sam huffed before continuing.

“I’m just saying that it was nice to finally get all that off my chest, you know? Ever since my demon blood relapse with Famine, I’ve felt really ashamed. Kind of broken and…” Sam exhaled as he searched for the right word. “ _Unworthy_ …”

“For the love of- ENOUGH!” Dean shouted as he rose from the bed in a full blown fit. “You’ve got _nothing_ to feel ashamed about, Sam. You have worth. You are FULL of worth. All is light. All is peace. Namaste and all that crap.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam scowled. “If we ever get out of the hunting business, you should consider becoming a counselor.”

 “Look, let’s stick to the problem at hand, alright? Nobody was trying out for “Hairspray” auditions until this morning so, obviously, something must have gone down _yesterday_. We just need to narrow down the possibilities.”

Sam balked at the suggestion.

“But we didn’t even DO anything yesterday. We just conducted research followed by…more research.”

“Sometimes spells can be embedded in documents and then triggered through the spoken word,” Castiel piped up. “Just reading out a specific sequence of enchanted words, even mundane ones, can provide the necessary spark. Did either of you read anything out loud yesterday?”

“Newspaper,” Dean said.

“A couple of theology websites,” Sam offered.

“Anything… _out of the ordinary_?”

Dean scratched his chin. “You know, there was this weird advertisement for some sort of high school talent show that we looked at. Someone stuck it on our door.”

Sam nodded. “Oh yeah! It was just a regular flyer though. I read it aloud to the both of us. Dean made a Star Search joke and then I tossed it.”

“Where is it now?”

“Should still be in the wastebasket,” Sam said, pointing near the telephone stand.

Castiel walked over to the trashcan. He pulled out the colorful flier and began to examine it carefully.

“It is as I feared. This document is enchanted.”

“Of course it is,” Dean deadpanned.

“ _Enchanted_?” Sam asked.

“It has been laced with some kind of magical essence, but I can not determine the signature. That most likely means it is Faerie in origin.”

“ _Faeries_?” Dean asked. “With the wings, and the dust, and the Disney copyrights?”

“Technically they come in a variety of forms. Trolls, Boggarts, Goblins, Leprechauns, Dryads, Satyrs, Redcaps….Faerie is the general term given to all mystical creatures from their realm.”

“That would be the _Faerie_ realm? ” Sam asked.

“Yes, Avalon. You have heard of it before?”

“No. Not really…” Sam admitted, a note of frustration building in his voice.

“Really? Avalon? Wow!” Dean marveled. “Just when you thought the Apocalypse couldn’t get any wackier.”

“It is possible that the foreboding signs of our endtimes have disturbed them. Perhaps this enchantment is retaliatory in nature. They are…fighting back somehow.”

“With enchanted high school talent show fliers?” Dean asked.

“Faeries are…unorthodox creatures,” Castiel explained with a sigh. “They are ruled by their enigmatic king, Oberon, who demands that his servants pay regular tributes to him.”

“The usual sort? Virgin sacrifice?” Dean asked nonchalantly.

“Blood rites?” Sam asked. “Burnt offerings?”

Castiel shook his head. “ _Mirth_.”

“Pardon?” Dean asked, tilting his head sideways.

“It is an abstract energy created during moments of humor and amusement. Faeries interfere in mortal affairs and play pranks in order to generate it. The mischief that they incite creates mirth as a byproduct. This substance sustains them and fuels much of their magic, but it also serves as the tribute that they pay toward their king.  

“Their national currency is _laughter_?” Dean scoffed. “That’s adorable.”

“They also specialize in dream magic. If you have ever had a particularly exhausting night sleep, it is possible that a faerie was to blame for your restlessness. They cultivate human mindscapes and then pluck the budding thoughts to add to their collections. Those notions can also act as tributes to Oberon, but they prefer to procure mirth whenever possible-”

 “CAS,” Dean shouted, waving his arms out to his sides to get his attention. “Why don’t we just lure the faeries here so you can squash them with your Angel-Magic brand smitey-ness? _Sploosh_! Enchantment disenchanted.”

“That would not be a feasible course of action.”

“Why not? Doesn’t Angel trump Faerie in the universe’s Poker rulebook?” Sam asked, taking the flier from Castiel to have a better look at it.

Castiel let out an oddly human sigh, as if he were explaining something elementary to the slower side of the classroom.

“Faeries exist in an entirely different dimension from our own. They are not bound to the same rules of time and space, so my powers would have little to no effect on them. Additionally, their magic thrives on chaos and subversion. Divine power is driven by order and structure. It would be like trying to speak an entirely different language. Perhaps if my powers were at their apex I could- but even then…no. Luring one here might only cause us more trouble at this point.”

“So what do we do now?” Dean asked. His hands were held out in surrender.

“Where is this talent show taking place?”

Sam squinted closely at the paper.

“It doesn’t say. Hold up! There’s a phone number to call for tickets. I’m Googling it.”

Sam sat down, typed for a moment, clicked on a few links and then winced.

“Okay, I have some bad news.”

“ _More_ bad news?” Dean asked. “That’s a shocker.”

“I found the address, but it’s a bit of a drive.”

“How bad can it be? One hour? Two hours?”

“McKinley High School is actually located…in Ohio.”

“It’s in another _state_?!” Dean shouted.

“So it would seem.”

“This HAS to be a mistake! How would that flier even end up all the way out here? I mean, that’s a pretty dedicated marketing campaign for a public high school talent show.”

“Dean,” Castiel gently interjected. “That is only more evidence to support the theory that _faeries_ are at work here. Such a feat would not be impossible for them to accomplish.”

“Right Cas, because faerie magic is sooooo much more reasonable than the idea that a well-funded public school arts program exists in Middle America.”

Sam pursed his lips for a moment and wondered which one was truly the more inconceivable option. He shook his head and turned to face Castiel, who still looked perplexed by Dean’s comment.

“Castiel? What do _you_ think we should do?”

Castiel took a deep breath.

 “I do not believe Dean will like the scenario that I am about to propose.”

***

“ No! No! NO!” Dean shouted back at Castiel and Sam as they all began carrying their bags to the car.

Sam persisted. “Dean, you should really give this more thought.”

“All right. Let me reconsider and then rephrase my answer…. _HELL_ no.”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel pleaded. “It seems as though the faeries want you and Sam to attend this show as a part of some elaborate ruse. If you go, the enchantment should naturally dissipate after their prank has run its course…”

“Yeah!” Sam affirmed. “This Oberon guy will receive his tribute and they’ll be done with us. Easy peasy.”

“No! Not easy! And definitely not… _peasy_.” Dean spat before opening the backseat of the impala.

“Guys, we’ve put up with a lot of shenanigans over the years, but faeries? Seriously, _faeries_?!”

Castiel looked at Sam for elaboration. Sam just shrugged his shoulders.

“I do not see why this scenario is so difficult for you to accept given all the strange phenomena that you and Sam have encountered throughout the course of your lifetimes.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe in faeries, Cas. I just don’t give a _rat’s ass_ whether or not they exist. I’m sorry, but what difference does all this make in the grand scheme? We’ve traveled back in time, fought the Whore of Babylon, thwarted two horsemen, and we’re _still_ no closer to averting the apocalypse. We need to forget about all this Tinkerbell crap and start coming up with a real plan. Newsflash guys, the doomsday clock is still a-ticking, and we’re fresh out of time-outs.”

Dean began tossing their luggage into the back of the car, but momentarily stopped when Castiel reached out to touch his shoulder.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly. “There are potentially grave consequences to an enchantment like this if it is never lifted. Based on what you and Sam described, it sounds as if the spell overtakes all your mental and bodily functions.”

“Yeah!” Sam added as he finished loading the backseat with his own luggage. “Can you imagine how dangerous it would be if we were seconds away from ganking a demon and suddenly you started singing the soundtrack to “Fame?”

Dean inadvertently shrugged off Castiel’s touch by moving to slam the car door closed. Castiel tried to hide the hurt look on his face, but Sam still caught it. He frowned at his brother’s utter lack of sensitivity.

“Have you two even considered the possibility that the faeries are already _done_ with us?”

This time Sam looked to Castiel for confirmation. Castiel lifted his eyes and mulled over the suggestion, seemingly for the first time.

“We sang like fools! They made their mischief! I say: tribute paid. And since nobody has joined a chorus line since this morning, I don’t see why we should be expecting another Broadway Blitzkrieg anytime soon.”

Suddenly, Dean lost his balance and fell to his knees. He let out a groan as his body hit the unforgiving asphalt.

“ **Dean**!” Sam shouted. He dove forward and grabbed his brother’s right arm. Slowly, he lifted him upward and helped him get back on his feet. Castiel automatically knelt down and supported Dean on his left side.

 “I’m fine! I’m fine! I’m fine!” Dean repeated once he was upright and stabilized. Neither his angel nor his brother relinquished their hold on him.

“I just got dizzy all of sudden. That’s all.”

“Cas! _What’s_ going on here?” Sam asked.

Dean started to rub his eyes and wince. Castiel was at a loss for words.

“I-I do not understand what is happening. It could be the faeries or perhaps something else entir-”

“ **Dean** ,” Sam interrupted. “Are you… _crying_?”

Dean shielded his eyes with his hands and viciously refuted the notion.

“NO!” he said sharply. “I’ve just got something in my eyes. Some dirt or some…”

“Or what?” Sam urged.

 “Oh _crap_ ,” Dean whispered in a low, desperate voice. His hands dropped to his sides. He swiftly pulled out a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and put them on before running toward the front of the impala.

“Or WHAT?” Sam repeated.

In the distance, another piano began to play. This time, the tune was significantly jauntier. Sam groaned as he finally realized what was happening. He looked skyward for assistance, knowing full well that it would never come.

Nearby there were two families loading up their cars to leave the motel parking lot. As if on cue, they all perked up their heads and began moving toward Team Free Will.

Castiel looked horrified as the tiny mob approached the trio with eager, smiling faces.

[“Doctor My Eyes” – Jackson Brown](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fqFUmo8VVg0)

“ _Doctor, my eyes have seen the years,  
and the slow parade of fears-without crying.  
Now I want to understand…” _ Dean sang as he mounted the impala’s hood in two steps.  
  
“ _I have done all that I could  
to see the evil and the good without hiding.  
You must help me if you can.”_

Dean removed his sunglasses, twirled in place, and threw the shades off to the side in a single fluid motion. The mothers of the two families cartwheeled forward and flanked him on opposite sides of the impala. As if on cue, all three began dancing in unison as the chorus started.

“ _Doctor, my eyyyyes  
tell me what is wrong  
Was I unwiiiise to leave them open for so long?”_

Sam lurched forward against his own volition and helped Dean dismount the car like a figure skating partner. He held his arms out to support his brother before plopping him down to earth.

Sam smiled grotesquely, and then continued the song.  
“ _'Cause I have wandered through this world  
and as each moment has unfurled  
I've been waiting to awaken from these dreams…”_

Castiel reluctantly took off where Sam ended. His face finally shifted from shock to forced cheer as the strange lyrics began pouring out of his mouth.

_“People go just where they will  
I never noticed them until I got this feeling  
that it's later than it seems.”_

The two mothers, along with their children, sidled up next to Castiel and began to dance something like a can-can while Dean and Sam sang the chorus together with the two fathers.

“ _Doctor, my eyes  
Tell me what you see  
I hear their cries  
Just say if it's too late for me.”_

One of the children, a teenage boy, took out an electric guitar and began playing the instrumental solo section while everyone else started banging their heads to the music. Dean finished the song by himself while he leaned across the hood of the impala, his head propped up with his arm. He pulled another pair of sunglasses out of thin air and then slowly placed them over his eyes with a tired, soulful look.

“ _Doctor, my eyes  
Cannot see the sky  
Is this the price for having learned…how not…to cry.”_

The music stopped and just as quickly as the families had gathered together, they went their separate ways. Both groups returned to their vehicles and continued with their packing, behaving as though nothing extraordinary had happened at all.

Dean remained on the hood of the impala, dazed, but no worse for wear. He shook his head slightly, as if he were waking from a long nap, and then turned to regard his onlookers.

Castiel had a stunned expression on his face. 

Sam had his arms folded in definite “ _told you so_ ” posturing.

 “So…I guess this means we’re going to back to school, huh?” Sam asked in his bitchiest tone possible.

Dean glared at him.

“Just shut up and get in the car, Liza.”

Sam rolled his eyes and walked over to the passenger side. Meanwhile, Castiel continued to stare off into space until Dean’s violent address shook him from his stupor.

“CAS! What’s the plan? Are you gonna warp drive yourself over there and stake out the school ahead of time?”

“I-I, well, I would like to but-“

“But _what_?”

Castiel looked down at the ground, as if he were secretly hoping to find the right words on the parking lot asphalt.

“My powers have become slightly… _compromised_ as of late. I am still winded from the trip I took to get here, so instantly transporting my vessel to Ohio would not be possible. I-I can find some alternate means of transportation to get there ahead of you, but it might take some time-“

“No! Don’t be stupid. Just come with us.”

“You-you are not disappointed by this…incapacity on my part?”

“I’ve known your Kool-Aid has been diluted for a few weeks now. It’s not really _surprising_ news.”

“Oh,” Castiel said with some disappointment in his voice.

Dean exhaled as he realized he had said the wrong thing. “And it’s, uh, it’s nothing to be…to get upset about, you know? That’s just how…the cookie crumbles,” Dean said with a shrug.

He screwed his mouth into a frown as he realized his words were failing him. 

“But none of that matters to me! I just care that you’re here with _us_. Half-charge, full-charge, or running on fumes. It doesn’t matter. You belong with _us_ , Cas. We can’t do this without you.”

Castiel looked up at Dean with hopeful smile. If he had a tail, it would have been wagging cautiously.

“Look! Just come with us, alright?” Dean asked earnestly. “Please?”

Castiel nodded.

“Yes. I will come with you.”

“Great. New house rules though: Nobody dances or sings or even talks about music unless they have to. Nothing to provoke another, well… _another_ _you know what_. I’m gonna go pay at the front desk and check us out.”

Castiel watched Dean stumble slightly as he walked away. He thought he heard him mumble “ _stupid faeries_ ” under his breath as he trudged along. He was still obviously rattled by the parking lot performance.

Castiel opened the back door of the impala and got in behind Sam.

“Sam? I am still having a hard time believing what just happened to us.”

“Perfectly normal reaction, Cas. Disbelief is the one state where we can actually claim legal residence.”

“I should not have been swept into the fray of your musical performance so easily.”

“Well, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just a little singing and dancing.”

“No, you misunderstand. I am not ashamed. I am _concerned_.”

“Why?” Sam asked, his forehead creasing with worry.

“Those other people in the parking lot. They did not hear you read the flier out loud so they should not have been affected by the faerie’s magic. **I** should not have been affected by the faerie’s magic. In order for that enchantment to extend beyond you and Dean, beyond the will of mortal beings, well, it must mean that there is an extraordinary amount of power behind it.”

“Do you still think it’s faeries then? That’s they’re just…playing a prank?”

“The magical signature is unchanged. I still believe it to be faerie in nature, but I no longer suspect mirth is their singular goal. Something larger is at work here. I suspect we’ll find out more when we get to McKinley.”

“Maybe faeries don’t _want_ the apocalypse clock to finally chime midnight. If we’re their mirth-source, maybe they don’t want to see humanity bite the dust. Maybe…they’re one our side?”

“That is a good theory. We should tell it to Dean when he gets back. He will be more receptive to this excursion if he believes faeries have a helpful role to play in the apocalypse.”

Silence briefly beset the two passengers. Sam shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

He looked up at the rear view mirror and formally addressed the angel sitting behind him.

“Castiel? I know that you may not want to talk about this, but I just thought I should offer.”

“Offer to talk about what?”

“I heard you, Cas. Remember? A few nights ago? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I heard you talking to yourself at Bobby’s. Talking to yourself about Dean and praying…praying for _strength_.”

Castiel didn’t move a muscle.

“I do not wish to discuss this any further.”

“I understand completely,” Sam said, using his best sympathetic voice. “But I just wanted to let you know that I don’t think there’s anything _wrong_ with it. Wrong with, you know, you and Dean being a...being a… _couple_?”

Castiel let out a decidedly un-angelic groan. Sam instantly backpeddled.

“Or…or _not_ a couple. Just two guys who are together. Just sharing a profound bond! Or whatever-“

“Sam, this is embarrassing for the both of us. I said that I do not wish to discuss this matter with you any further. Your interest is appreciated, but I- I-I…”

Castiel couldn’t even bring himself to complete the sentence.

Sam bit his tongue. He was worried that Castiel would vanish if he ventured any further. Still, he decided to press his luck and continue.

“One last thing and I won’t say another word unless you ask me to,” Sam began. “I promise!”

Castiel folded his arms and tightened his lips. He looked as though he was bracing himself for whatever might follow.

“I just wanted to let you know that,” Sam gulped, still unsure how the sentiment would be taken. His shoulders tensed up as he began to speak.“..that I don’t think that there’s anything wrong with _you_. Based on what I’ve read, human/angel relations are pretty much completely forbidden. Like, _Old_ _Testament_ -style taboo-”

“Yes,” Castiel affirmed.

“But whether or not you say anything to Dean about how you feel, for the record, I don’t think that you’re wrong for feeling that way in the first place. I don’t think that having those feelings or acting on those feelings would imply any kind of weakness or wickedness on your part. Not if those feelings are coming from love.”

Sam swallowed, and took a deep breath.

“For what it’s worth, and coming from Lucifer’s vessel this probably doesn’t mean all that much, but I wanted you to know that…that you have my support.”

Silence again.

Castiel didn’t move. He didn’t even breathe. So Sam continued.

“I can’t think of _anyone_ else who could possibly be better for my brother than you.”

Castiel’s face softened. He looked at the back of the headrests, unable to hold his gaze with Sam in the rear view mirror any longer. His response was a barely audible whisper:

“ _Thank you, Sam.”_

Sam’s shoulders relaxed. He looked at Castiel’s form in the rear view mirror and smiled.

“Say Cas,” Sam began, deciding to change the subject. “You mentioned something about the faeries being experts at dream magic, right?”

“Yes!” Castiel answered quickly.

He was obviously eager to change subjects as well.

“How do they manipulate dreams again? Do they make people see things that they want you to see or do they just harvest the dreams that you already have? What I mean is… do you, gosh, do you think that one of them could…that one of them might be able to…”

Sam trailed off, momentarily distracted by Dean’s stomping figure making its way back to the car.

“That one of them could what, Sam?”

Sam let out a gentle sigh. “Nothing, Cas. It’s nothing. Never mind. I was just thinking out loud.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concern. He started to ask something, but was cut off by Dean’s loud entrance.

“Can you believe it?! I was charged a late check-out fee! We’re only ten minutes late, and that wasn’t even our fault!”

“But what could you possibly say? _Hey mister, we would have been here on time, but faerie magic compelled me, my brother, and our angel friend to participate in a Jackson Brown musical number_?”

“True,” Dean agreed as he pointed a finger at Sam. “And on that note, I must admit that at the very least, the music is getting better.”

“See? There’s always a bright side to everything,” Sam said with a hint of smugness.

“Yes,” Dean agreed. “And that side is going to look even _brighter_ when we wear the sweet-ass bathrobes that I stole from our room.”

“Dean! They’ll just charge our credit card!” Sam shouted.

“Not a problem. Not my card, remember?”

Sam shook his head in disappointment. The group average for morality just seemed to be dipping lower and lower with each passing day.

“Hey, Cas?” Dean called out. “You okay? You got leg room back there?”

Castiel looked up like a startled bird. He was still lost in thought after his conversation with Sam.

“Yes! Yes, I am fine. There is room back here and…I have it. My legs are unencumbered.”

Dean tilted his head to the side. He was slightly confused by Castiel’s phrasing, but nodded along anyways.“Aaaall right then. Let’s make tracks!”  

Sam moved to turn on the radio, but Dean slapped his hand away.

“Don’t you DARE touch that radio, Sammy!”

“Why not?”

“Because the last thing we need is a roadside performance of _Les Miserables_ , okay?”

Sam bitchfaced and folded his arms together in a not so subtle display of displeasure.

“So what do we do in the meantime?”

 “Here,” Dean said as he tossed a book onto Sam’s lap. “I stole it from the reception area while I was waiting for that a-hole manager. Read us a story, College-Boy.”

Sam picked up the book and glanced at the cover.

“Dean! This is _Ethan Frome_. It’s really depressing.”

“I know. I’ve read it before too,” Dean said with a smirk. “And trust me, when it comes to depressing circumstances, Ethan Frome ain’t got nothing on Sam and Dean Winchester.”

Sam couldn’t help but grin. He picked up the book and turned to the first page.

“ _I had the story, bit by bit, from various people, and, as generally happens in such cases, each time it was a different story_ …”

Castiel sat up straight so he could listen more closely to Sam’s voice. Once he got lost in the novel, his eyes began to shift away from his window’s view. They continued drifting to the left until they finally landed on the back of Dean’s head. Castiel remained fixated on his figure for the rest of their trip to Ohio and, while he stared, he wondered about their own story, their own tragic circumstances, and what kind of ending they could ever possibly hope to have.  

***

 “They’re singing and _dancing_?” Chuck Shurley asked himself as he typed out the last few lines describing the parking lot number. Like Dean, Chuck had thought that the faeries already satisfied their mirth quota by making the brothers sing that Death Cab song. He figured that the mischievous interlopers would have already lifted the enchantment so that his trio could go on their merry way…

Well, as merry a way that one can go while trying to avert the apocalypse, that is.

“Who’s singing and dancing?” Becky Rosen asked as she popped her head into Chuck’s office.

“GAH!” Chuck exclaimed, clutching his hand to his chest. “What? Singing? Dancing? You heard something about a… about a what?” Chuck fumbled out, unable to lie convincingly even when he was sober.

After the _Supernatural_ convention debacle, Chuck and Becky had attempted both dating and cohabitation, but the former didn’t take. Chuck had some reservations about living together when they were no longer romantically entangled, but Becky made it clear from the onset that she wasn’t leaving. She couldn’t bear the thought of abandoning him during such a crucial time, with the apocalypse looming right over their heads. Additionally, since Chuck’s documents weren’t heading to the printers anytime soon, copy-editing his work was the only chance Becky had to revel in the continuing tales of the Brothers Winchester.

Chuck found out that quickly there was no profit to be had in being a prophet. As noble a task Gospel-writing may have been, it took up most of his day and prevented him from finding and completing the writing jobs that actually paid for the little things in life. You know, little things…like food.

And shelter.

Given the fact that the cost of living was expensive and **not** publishing any new books was somehow even _less_ lucrative than he had anticipated, Becky’s monthly rent payments had actually saved Chuck from becoming a starving artist in the most literal sense of the expression.

So, in retrospect, Becky’s off-putting residency had actually been a blessing in disguise…

“ _A really, **really** good disguise_ ,” Chuck thought to himself.

Thiers wasn’t exactly a _Misery_ -type set up. Becky was no Kathy Bates. There had been no violence; no hobbling. Chuck was still perfectly mobile. He supposed that he had it fairly easy by comparison. Some prophets had been tortured or even put to death for announcing their controversial visions. Was it really so bad if all he had to do was put up with an ex-girlfriend who was crazy about his work and paid half the rent?

“Ohmigod!” Is it the…Winchesters?!” Becky burst out, as she began running her hands through her hair nervously. She galloped over to Chuck and fell to her knees.

“ Oh CHUCK, please you HAVE TO tell let me see you just HAVE to-”

“Here,” he said offering her a chair next to him while he tilted the screen and rolled his eyes. “Just don’t add anything to it. No matter what you type, it won’t come true _just because_ _it’s my computer_.”

“I know that now, silly. It was just an experiment!” Becky said with a dismissive wave, as she leaned in to read. “Besides, you can’t blame a girl for trying.”

As her eyes tracked the screen, Chuck thought back, with annoyance, at the pages upon pages of hard-core pornographic fan fiction Becky had composed on his desktop that he had to subsequently delete from his master manuscript.

Well, actually, Becky had insisted that he email her a copy of it before he deleted it.

“Oh. My. God. They’re singing? Sam and Dean are singing? _Together_?”

“They’ve had one duet and a pretty elaborate parking lot number so far.”

“How long has this been happening?”

“Started this morning. Not sure how long it’ll last. The visions are ending with little ‘to be continued’ cards.”

“What is it? Some sort of musical demon? GAH!” Becky gasped. “Is it like Buffy? It’s like Buffy, isn’t it?”

“They’re not entirely sure what it is, but they think It may be the work of…faeries.”

“ _Faeries_?” Becky repeated. “Wow! Well, that would certainly be a twist to the mythology, right Chuck?”

Chuck nodded. “I didn’t see it coming either. Well, I did but you know not…not before I had the vision.“

“What are faeries doing in the final act of the apocalypse story arc?” Becky asked.

“No one’s sure,” Chuck said with a shrug. “Sam and Dean are leaving the hotel right not to track down a lead they provided. The faeries booby trapped this high school talent show flier with a “music enchantment” or something. It’s all just really _weird_.”

“An enchanted high school talent show flier?”

“Yes, an enchanted…high school…talent show…flier. Wow, it just gets more ridiculous every time I say it.” Chuck rubbed his forehead in frustration. “It’s supposed to feature some special club from the sponsoring school. I can’t remember the name though. Begins with a G or something…”

“Their glee club?”

“Yeah, a glee club! That’s it.”

“You mean, just like on _Show Choir_?”

“Is that the weird series on Fox with all the thirty-something actors who pretend to be singing teenagers?”

“ _Show Choir_ Is NOT weird. It’s a dramatic musical comedy about the value of the individual and the importance of originality. Also, they really seem to like Katy Perry for some reason. Oh, Chuck! This is phenomenal! This is the ultimate narrative device that _Supernatural_ has still not tackled.”

“What?”

“There was the Christmas narrative with those pagan gods. So sad by the way...”

“I know. It’s a hard one to get through.”

“The time travel narrative with John and Mary, the monster movie homage with the shapeshifter. The meta-narrative. You know? Meeting you. Meeting me…”

Chuck nodded and pursed his lips. That had been one of the stranger gospel entries he ever had to write…

“And now, it’s all been leading to this: _Supernatural: The Musical_. Do you know how many playlists I have gone through in an attempt to write my **own** version of a _Supernatural_ musical?”

“Several?” Chuck ventured.

“…Hundred.”

Chuck’s eyes widened.

“Becky, what does it matter if there’s singing and dancing? How on earth is that useful? It’s just going to hold them back from saving the world.”

“This is BIGGER than saving the world, Chuck. See, musicals are all about using songs to help you speak when there aren’t words for what you want to say! It’s the perfect outlet for every repressed feeling your characters have been bottling up inside themselves since day one; a cathartic release of the spirit before the big apocalyptic finish!”

“Becky…”

“The series is already so dramatic- it’s practically a musical already! Or, at least like, an epic poem or something. _Sam_ , as the tormented younger brother, ever damned by his difference. Seeking normalcy but never finding it. _Dean_ , as the world weary, older brother always sacrificing himself for love and duty. Both have been touched by the hand of evil. Both have walked down dark roads. Can you _imagine_ the songs they would sing?” Becky shrieked. “What about John Denver? _Country roaaads / Take me hooome / To the plaaace / I belooong_ …”

“Becky!”

“And that angel friend of theirs, Castiel! He and Dean obviously have a truckload of repressed sexual tension between them. I mean, how beautiful would it be if they finally channeled all that energy into a professionally choreographed musical number that expressed their _true_ feelings for each other?”

“BECKY!”

“What!? Oh, sorry! Chuck, you don’t understand.  This is everything I’ve always wanted. Destiel is my OTP!”

“OTP?”

“One true pairing. Don’t you read my blog?”

“Wait. What’s a….Destiel?”

“Dean slash Castiel. Gawd. It’s written all over your gospel. Well, _between_ the lines, that is.”

Chuck nodded in agreement. He had his suspicions while writing, but he never voiced them to Becky, lest he fuel her slashy fire. While he was thinking this over, Becky twisted her head in confusion as she read part of the computer screen.

 “Wait, if Sam and Dean were the ones exposed to the enchanted flier, why is Castiel singing along too?”

“I guess there’s some kind of proximity clause to the magic. The enchantment must extend beyond the brothers so that it affects anyone who comes into contact with them. It affected those people in the parking lot too”

“Wait…so it affects _anyone_ who comes into contact with them?” Becky asked with a sly grin on her face.

“I guess so. I mean, I don’t know for sure yet. It too early to tell but it seems as if-“

Becky started to bite her lip as the idea formed behind her eyes.

“Becky? Becky wait…”

“Where are they going, Chuck?” Becky asked, rising from her chair.

“Becky, please sit down.”

“I said: _Where_ are they going, _Chuck_?”

Becky began edging toward him slowly, causing Chuck to retreat from her in his rollaway chair.

“I want dates and addresses.” She elaborated

“Becky,” Chuck sputtered as his ex-girlfriend back him up into the wall. “Becky, you’re _scaring_ me!”

While he dated Becky, Chuck discovered that although she was usually quite cheerful, she also capable of summoning a cold, calculating fury that should not be trifled with. It was a side to her that he rarely saw, and happily avoided whenever possible. It typically emerged only under special circumstances related to her fangirlishness. For example, Becky once boiled over with rage when Chuck accidentally erased her favorite shows from their collective TiVo Recorder. On a separate occasion, he heard her cursing a blue streak at the computer when she had to issue warnings to “Wincest-hating trolls” on her website’s message boards.

“ _Tell me_ where they’re going, Chuck! Dean and Castiel just need a little nudge and I _know_ they’ll finally confess their love for each other. OH! And then maybe I can even sing a duet with Sam!”

“BECKY. This isn’t your crazy fan-fiction. These are complicated, three dimensional people with real flesh and blood feelings. You can’t just inject yourself into their story to fulfill some twisted, fangirl fantasy!”

“Fine. Then I just want to see them perform live, in person.”

“No.”

Becky placed her hand on her hips and then confidently moved back toward Chuck’s laptop. She closed the top and carefully picked up the entire computer, holding it precariously over her head.”

“I want dates and addresses,” she repeated.

“Becky,” Chuck scoffed. “You can’t threaten my manuscript! I’ve got back up copies saved!”

“I’m not threatening your manuscript, headless. I’m threatening _your_ _computer_!”

Chuck was a little slow on the uptake, but when the distinction finally dawned on him, he screamed and covered his mouth with his hands, completely aghast.

“NOT MY MACBOOK! Becky, I’m warning you! I have an angel watching over me. He will SO smite you for this. He will bitch-smite you with the back of his angelic hand!”

“He only smites when your life is in danger! A macbook is a luxury for prophets, not a prerequisite. If your computer gets smashed they’ll just expect for you to make friends with a quill and parchment. It’s no trouble for them if it takes _you_ another century to get everything down. They’ll just un-deadify you in the meantime if you croak.”

Chuck huffed and twisted his lips in frustration. He considered his options, but once he realized that he had none, he shook his hands up and down before he banged the table with his right hand.

“Damn you, woman!”

Becky licked her lips, enjoying the taste of her victory. “I want dates, exact directions for the high school AND their new lodgings.

“You have to promise me something first: No interfering with their personal affairs, all right Becky? No meddling with Winchester destiny!”

“Zero interference on my end,” Becky said with her hand held up as if she were swearing an oath. “Their destinies will remain un-meddled. I’m just there as a spectator and nothing more.”

“Fine,” Chuck conceded as he pulled out a sheet of paper and a pencil. He gave Becky one last angry glare before he began writing down the directions. Becky gently set down his laptop.

“You know, I don’t suppose that little tiff we had…” Chuck let the words trail off as he paused his writing.

“What?” Becky asked.

“Turned you on at all, did it?”

“Keep writing, _Chuck_.” Beck said through bared teeth as she began to raise the laptop into the air once more.

“Right. Right. Gotcha. Still writing.”

Becky’s face brightened back to its original, happy glow. She set down the computer and began to twirl her hair in her fingers.

She was already planning a setlist.


	3. Performance Anxiety

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s what everyone has been waiting for: The thrilling debut of Glee Characters!
> 
> In this exciting chapter of ATWAS, the New Directions team sings at the McKinley talent show, Harmony and Gavroche arrive to help thicken the plot, and Sabriel shippers FINALLY get some narrative appetizers.
> 
> All that PLUS…Jessica Simpson! Avatar! Brotherly Love! Meta-Humor! And Castiel gets a solo! Wheeeeee!

Because of his height, Sam Winchester normally had problems with stadium-style seating, but the lack of leg room in the McKinley auditorium somehow made sitting feel even more painful than usual.

Sam attempted to stack his limbs in a variety of awkward configurations until he finally gave up and repositioned one of his legs so that it protruded into the adjacent aisle, effectively blocking off any potential stairway traffic. He momentarily debated whether or not reclining in such a manner would be considered a fire hazard, but he gave up the fight once his body started to release all its pent-up tension.

Sam had been instructed to stay put in order to monitor the talent show performances while Dean and Castiel patrolled the school and searched for evidence of the supernatural sort. However, after five hours of sitting in the car and 45 minutes of having his knees practically under his chin, Sam was in no mood to abide. Especially not when it meant watching talent of _this_ variety.

There had been all sorts of horrible acts to “enjoy” while he waited. One aspiring magician had attempted to saw a woman in half with an obviously rubber blade. A young man with a pronounced afro and thick-rimmed glasses tried his hand at juggling. Two football players each ate 16 hotdogs in under 10 minutes…

Sam nearly cried tears of joy when the emcee, Principal Figgins, called for an intermission.

***

Rachel Berry peered from behind the red velvet curtain that was draped across the stage.

“It looks like a great crowd out there!”

Kurt Hummel popped his head above hers and surveyed the auditorium for himself.

“Rachel, this is barely _one third_ of the student body. How does that qualify as great? We get more attendance for the anti-drug assemblies.”

Rachel frowned. “I guess you’re right. I thought for sure that the acoustic tribute we did to George Michael at the Lima Mall would have garnered us a little more exposure than this.”

“Or _any_ exposure. There isn’t a single new face to be seen for miles. We’ll be lucky if some of our parents even make it. Who starts at talent show at 5:00 in the afternoon anyways?”

“Wait! There’s one! There’s a new face!” Rachel said, pointing to a tall man sitting by himself in the rafters. “See? He’s not from here. And he’s too old to be a high school student. Do you see him? He’s wearing a suit and a tie and…”

Rachel gasped.

“Do you think he could be a _talent scout_?”

“Doubtful,” Kurt said with a sigh as he closed the curtain and retreated backstage. “He’s probably just a faculty member from one of the other schools.”

The two students sat at a nearby table that was loaded with props and papers. Rachel began stirring a cup of warm tea that she had been nursing steadily for the past five minutes. She pulled out a tiny plastic packet of Honey-To-Go, and added it to her brew.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Kurt said as he rested his head on the table. “What’s wrong with me? I _never_ get stage fright!”

“It’s perfectly natural for you to feel a little anxious Kurt.” Rachel said as she continued stirring. “The prize money they’re offering for first place could really help us with the transportation costs to Regionals. Plus, things have been so off-kilter these past two weeks. Ever since those _Unitards_ started using our facilities.”

Rachel’s tea stirring became much more violent once she mentioned their rival showchoir group. The dinging sound of her metal spoon hitting the ceramic mug rang out every half-second like a crazed bell crying in pain.

“It just doesn’t make any sense. _Their_ auditorium gets flooded and now _we_ have to entertain them as guests? How is that fair?”

“Mr. Schu said it was the honorable thing to do,” Kurt replied as he slowly picked his head up from the desk. “Not that honor will mean all that much when we lose at Regionals because they stole our setlist, of course.”

“ _Exactly_!” Rachel said after she swallowed a sip of tea. She plopped her cup down before continuing her rant. A sizeable drop leapt out from the mug and spilled onto some nearby paperwork.

“How are we supposed to have a fighting chance at winning when our biggest competition is camped out in our own backyard? Besides, they strut around here like they own the place. Who do they think they are? And what kind of a name is _The Unitards_ , anyway?”

Before Kurt could respond, a voice from off-stage answered for him.

“As a matter of fact, _we_ happen to think we’re winners.”

Harmony and Gavroche walked over to the table and stood by while Kurt and Rachel looked on, too stunned by their sudden presence to say anything more.

“Although you are certainly right about our name,” Gavroche added meekly. “It could use some, er, _tweaking_.”

Harmony shot him a quick glare before she turned to address Rachel.

 “Really, Rachel.” Harmony said, clucking her tongue. “Blaming circumstance for your own poor performance is _terribly_ unbecoming of a competitor. Especially when you haven’t officially lost to us yet.”

Rachel pursed her lips. Her ire was white hot now. Kurt kept a cool head and spoke before she could say something she might regret.

“Harmony. Gavroche.” Kurt said as he nodded politely to the both of them. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

“We just came by to wish you luck,” Gavroche said with a tiny wave.

Harmony extended her hand to Rachel, who took it cautiously. Gavroche bent down to hug Kurt.

Kurt returned the hug, albeit with some stiff awkwardness. After hesitating for a moment, Gavroche knelt down and hugged Rachel as well. Harmony turned to shake Kurt’s hand as she offered him a tight-lipped “ _Good luck_.”

Rachel barely finished reciprocating the gesture before she practically pushed Gavroche away.

“What is this?” Rachel sputtered. “Psychological warfare?”

Harmony looked over to Gavroche with a slight lift of her eyebrows. When he didn’t say anything, she rolled her eyes and answered for the both of them.

“Well,” Harmony said as she glanced at her fingernails. “We are guests here, after all. You’ve been quite accommodating as hosts, so it’s only reasonable that we should make an effort to be more…”

Her eyes flashed as she spat the word out.

“ _Gracious_.”

Rachel nodded slowly before she offered a reply. “Well, in that case, good luck to the both of you as well.”

“Thanks,” Harmony replied sharky smile. “Well, we better get going. You two probably want to practice a bit before the intermission is over.”

“Why?” Kurt laughed. “We’re going last. There are still seven acts ahead of us.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Harmony said in mock shock. “You haven’t heard from your Principal Figgins?”

Rachel and Kurt looked at each other and then back at Harmony.

“There’s been a last minute change to the schedule. You guys are going up first after intermission is over. _We’ll_ be the ones closing the sh-.”

Rachel was on her feet before Harmony even got a chance to finish.

“ _We’re_ the host school! Why on earth would they have _you_ _guys_ close out the show instead of us?!”

Harmony scratched her chin as if he she were actually trying to puzzle out the answer.

“Don’t know,” she mused. “Wanted to save the best for last, I suppose.”

“ _Harmony_ ,” Gavroche whispered. “ _Stop it_.”

Kurt rose to his feet as well. His face looked pale and panicky.

“They can’t just change the line-up like that! We-we were ready to go last. We _planned_ it out that way.”

“Go talk to your director if you don’t believe me,” Harmony said with shrug of her shoulders. “We were notified of the changes only a few moments ago. Perhaps the information hasn’t trickled down to you _worker bees_ just yet.”

Rachel stomped off, stage right, to go find Mr. Schuester.

Kurt lingered briefly. He regarded his two enemies carefully.

Harmony folded her arms and smiled, daring him to say something.

Gavroche glanced around nervously, not wanting to look Kurt in the eyes directly.

Kurt shook his head in disgust, and then ran off to find Rachel and the other glee club members.

***

Sam scowled. In the absence of more engrossing activity, his mind had started to wander during the intermission. Doubt, in particular, had begun to twist his thoughts.

“ _What could possibly be the significance of any of this_?” He thought to himself. Was this competition really what the faeries had wanted them to see? What were the odds that any of these kids might actually affect the outcome of the apocalypse?

 Sam quieted the skeptical voices in his head and tried to focus on what Castiel had said about there being “larger forces at work here.” He perked up his head and swept the room once more with his eyes. This reconnaissance work could hardly be considered riveting, but Sam still tried his best to remain vigilant.

Sam shifted his body slightly and heard a loud crinkling sound. He reached underneath his behind and glanced down to locate the noisy culprit.

It was a wrapper.

He pulled the paper up to his face for a closer inspection.

A _Snickers_ candy wrapper, to be precise.

Sam angrily tossed the wrapper away and tried _desperately_ not to think about Gabriel.

Two weeks ago, Sam had a terrible nightmare. Well, “terrible” is a slightly inaccurate description because the terror Sam felt that night was actually par for the course. He hadn’t slept well ever since Lucifer first visited him in a dream, and that night was no different from every other night Sam had endured since their initial encounter.

 This nightmare was sparked by another visitation; another maddening plea from Lucifer to let him inhabit Sam’s body. Lucifer’s presence was always troubling, but it was only after he left Sam’s mind that sleep became unthinkable. Highlights of the worst moments of Sam’s life would play out in gristly fashion. He saw himself freeing Lucifer, killing innocent people, watching his brother die, and looking on helplessly as he was abandoned by friends and family. Night after night after night. 

When Sam finally woke up, he found himself breathless and cold…

Shaking and sweaty.

Empty and lonely.

He turned on his side and cried softly as the sheer enormity of his cumulative failures crushed his mind and broke his spirit. In a moment of weakness, Sam reverted back to a habit much older than his demon blood-drinking.

In a moment of _profound_ weakness, Sam Winchester lost himself in prayer.

Ever since he met Zachariah and found out God was on sabbatical, Sam’s perception of the divine had diminished significantly. He hadn’t always been so jaded though. Sam used to pray about everything when he was younger. He used to believe in fate. In destiny. In there being some kind of benevolent, master plan for the universe. Some kind of benevolent master plan for his family.

Of course, meeting heaven’s less than cherubic retinue of angels had changed how he saw that plan playing out…

There were a few moments in Team Free Will’s struggles that implied the potential presence of divine intervention, but Sam had seen too much suffering and lived through too much pain to pretend that God had his hand in every miniscule, mortal affair.

In the cold darkness of Sam’s motel room, prayer seemed positively futile. If God wasn’t going to show up for the apocalypse, an event wherein millions of lives hung in the balance, why would he deign to console one, weary sinner on a single, sleepless night? 

It didn’t make any sense, but still Sam continued to pray.

When he was finished, Sam fought hard to stay awake. His consciousness clawed tightly to reality for fear of what dreams may come, but fatigue finally won out and dragged his body back to sleep. In his last moments of wakefulness, Sam steeled himself. He braced for the anguish and torment that he knew would surely follow once he closed his eyes, but to his surprise…anguish and torment never came. 

Sam kept his eyes closed in the dream He was still fearful of his surroundings.

He inhaled deeply.

It had been so long since Sam smelled something in a dream that wasn’t blood or smoke or death that he barely recognized the scent. He tried to name it.

It was…It was…

“ _Salt_?” Sam asked himself.

Sam opened his eyes.

He was at the beach.

A beach with warm, white sand and crashing waves.

He was lying on a towel.

In a bathing suit.

Sam looked around for Dean or Bobby or someone he knew, but could not find anyone that he recognized. Instead the coastline was dotted with happy strangers. To his right, children were making sand castles. To his left, a group of college kids were playing volleyball. They invited him to join them and after a brief moment’s hesitation, Sam agreed.

Sam had only played volleyball once before at Stanford. Thankfully, the pace of the game came back to him quickly. His height was a huge asset to his team, but he had so much fun that by the end of their session he honestly couldn’t even remember what the final score was.

When they finished playing, Sam thanked them for the game and returned to his beach towel. One of the sandcastle children walked by and offered him half of his popsicle. Sam laughed and happily took the frozen confection.

It was cherry. His absolute favorite when he was a kid.

The child ran off after his mother called him in the distance. Sam waved goodbye and began licking away. By some sort of dream-magic miracle, the popsicle never dripped at a pace faster than Sam could manage.

After Sam finished eating, he was so exhausted from the game that he decided to just lie on his stomach, close his eyes, and listen to the sounds of the ocean. When Sam finally awoke in his bed that morning he could still feel the gentle heat of the sun on his shoulders.

The next night, Sam dreamt he was at a lakeside campsite. After a delightful parasailing session, he stopped by the nearby picnic tables and found a pitcher of ice-cold lemonade waiting for him next to a platter of Rice Krispie treats.

The night after that, Sam dreamt that he was hiking through the woods. While he observed a Blue Jay building a nest, he spotted a picnic someone had laid out in the middle of a lush meadow. It contained a strawberry salad along with some chocolate granola.

 This continued again and again, night after night. Each time Sam discovered that he was in some new, serene territory with nothing to worry about except relaxing. He didn’t recognize the possible significance of the emerging pattern until nearly a week had passed.

-The exotic locations he had never once visited.

-The carefully repeated structure in each dream’s sequence.

-The absence of all the troubling thoughts that always plagued Sam’s waking mind.

-And, perhaps most telling of all, the recurring presence of _sweet treats_.

Sam realized that this blessing wasn’t a gift from God ( _at least not directly_ ). No. No…

It was Gabriel.

It just had to be.

Deep down, Sam had suspected that it might have been Gabriel from the very beginning. On some level perhaps he even _wanted_ it to be Gabriel, but Sam didn’t want to think too long or too hard about why that was so. Sam’s relationship with the Trickster Angel was… _complicated_ , to say the very least.

When Gabriel was just a vengeful trickster demigod, Sam thought he was powerful and slightly intriguing but also dangerous. Dangerous and unwieldy.

When Gabriel killed Dean over and over again at Mystery Spot, Sam thought of him as nothing more or less than his worst enemy. Once Sam discovered that Gabriel had intended the horrible exercise to serve some greater, instructive purpose, his opinion shifted slightly. Instead, Sam came to regard Gabriel with the same sort of disdain that he reserved for every other pretentious, overzealous authority figure in his life that presumed to know what was best for him…

That is to say he hated Gabriel, but he still respected him.

When Sam finally found out Gabriel was not a trickster but Gabriel as in _Gabriel_ , as in…The _Archangel_ , _Gabriel_ …well, something just sort of clicked into place in Sam’s head. Suddenly, without even thinking about it consciously, Sam had wiped the slate clean.

Gabriel’s story about angel-brother drama was _pathetically_ human. Any sort of lofty stature he might have held in Sam’s mind beforehand came crashing down once Sam saw that he was just as flawed and weak and petty as any mortal being.

Gabriel wasn’t some demigod who was seeking vengeance or sowing discord from a divine pedestal. He wasn’t malicious. He wasn’t misanthropic. He was just one son. One world-weary son who was running away from his family and desperately searching for meaning in the wake of a ruined home and an absent father…

Sam could relate to that.

 _All_ of that, actually.

After their TV Land escapades, Sam had secretly hoped he and his brother would run afoul the angel just once more before the final curtain fell. He assured himself that this was a completely objective desire because Gabriel was such a powerful, knowledgeable player in this war that _any_ sort of interaction with him might prove beneficial to their cause. In fact, Sam believed that if he were given the opportunity, he might even be able to persuade Gabriel to take up arms with them. Maybe then, they’d really stand a chance of coming through this apocalypse thing whole, in one piece.

Once Sam suspected Gabriel must have been the one responsible for his dreamscaping, he tried everything he could to get his attention. He prayed during the day with the same fervency he felt that first night when he had been attended. Every night he called out to Gabriel in his dreams and begged him to show himself. He visualized and meditated and nearly blacked out one evening when he tried to go into some incense-induced, shamanistic trance while Dean was out grabbing dinner. The overwhelming scent of lavender and sage had been somewhat difficult to explain once Dean returned, but Sam managed to concoct a convincing enough lie.

And still, in spite of all these attempts at communication, both day and night, both waking and dreaming, Gabriel never once appeared to him. As a result, a nearly endless array of questions battered Sam’s skull every minute of every hour:

Why had Gabriel helped him in the first place?

Why did he refuse to show himself after Sam discovered his ruse?

Could Gabriel finally be siding with Team Free Will?

And, more to the point, why did Sam care so much about all of these questions, and why had he suddenly become so secretive about his relationship with the archangel?

Why had he lied to Dean about the incense?

 “ _I just want to see him again so I can say “thank you” in person_ ,” Sam thought to himself.

Sam had felt his mind begin to unhinge itself when Lucifer started taking up residence in his dreaming mind. If Gabriel hadn’t intervened when he did, well, there was no telling what Sam might have done to finally make the pain stop.

_“That’s all I want. I just want to thank him.”_

Sam looked downward. He sifted through his feelings only to discover, with some surprise, that he might actually want something _more_ from Gabriel than a formal acceptance of his gratitude.

Without realizing it, his thoughts naturally drifted to Castiel and his predicament with Dean.

 “ _No_ ,” Sam said to himself, stopping the idea before it could take shape completely. “ _You can’t think that way, Sam. It’s not like that. It’s not that at all. I mean-”_

 _“He won’t even_ **talk** _to me…”_

***

 “This is _ridiculous_! Why do we have to go first? We’re the _host_ school! We’re supposed to perform _last_. We’ve planned to go last for weeks now! It just looks so pitiful for us not to close out our own show! We-“

“ **Rachel** ,” Will Schuester pleaded. “We’ve already been over this three times now. Principal Figgins decided to let _The Unitards_ go last. It doesn’t matter how or why. The fact is that he’s already promised them that spot and he can no longer change that decision-”

“Why? He made one last-minute change. Why can’t he make another?” Santana interrupted.

Backstage, the _New Directions_ team was feeling jilted by the latest adjustments made to the talent show program. Mr. Schuester’s pep talk was somehow less effective than usual this time around. Aside from having their director confirm the dreaded details, there was precious little illumination that he could provide them. For this reason, the club was scrambling for answers as to why they had been treated so shabbily. Tensions were running high and time was running out. The intermission would soon be over, but no one was in the proper mindset to take the stage.

“What is Principal Figgins thinking?” Tina shouted from the back of the room. “First those _Unitards_ take over our auditorium and now this?”

“I know!” Rachel added. “How is my solo supposed to have proper, dramatic embellishment if it’s not the first last thing everyone hears?”

“Oh CAN it, Rachel!” Mercedes shouted. “If you don’t get your perfect solo tonight, you’ll get another one soon enough.”

 “Why even bother going on at all?” Santana added casually. “We should totally Rosa Parks this and refuse to leave our dressing room. We shall not be moved.”

“Yeah,” Puck added. “This competition isn’t for placement; it’s for prizemoney. We’re not risking anything by sitting out.”

These final comments shifted the club’s collective sentiment from slightly disgruntled to borderline mutinous. Any semblance of order disappeared as the members began shouting over each other. Their voices grew higher and louder along with their list of grievances. The only exception to the chaos was Finn, who calmly sat in a chair near the back. He kept his eyes closed and hands clasped together in some kind of meditative act.

Mr. Schu became agitated by the cacophony and seemed ready to explode at any moment, but before he could say anything to the club, Finn’s eyes flickered open and he rose to his full height, commanding everyone’s immediate attention.

“Ok, just STOP IT! All of you!” Finn said with his hands outstretched. “I know you’re angry. I’m angry too, but now isn’t the time to complain. We’ll have a chance to get some answers once the competition is over, but for right now we’ve **got** to focus on our performance.”

Everyone, even Santana, seemed momentarily subdued by Finn’s brazen display of authority.

“We’ve got two choices right now. We can go out there, do our best, and prove that we _should_ have been the closing act, or, we can do nothing and admit, by default, that The Unitards are the better group. Now…who wants to show up with me tonight and prove to everyone that we deserved better?”

 Most of the club members averted their eyes once they realized how short-sighted they had been. The others nodded along with Finn’s words and smiled.

“I want to show up tonight,” Brittany said, emerging from the crowd.

“Me too,” Quinn said as she walked over to stand by Finn.

“Me three,” Artie added as he wheeled over to the other side of the divide. “We’re not going to let those _Unitards_ show us up in our own house, right guys?”

There was a general murmur of agreement. Then, Sam Evans walked over and stood next to Finn. He held out his left hand and pounded his right fist into it dramatically as he began to speak.

“The Sky People have sent us a message... that they can take whatever they want! And no one can stop them. Well, we will send _them_ a message. You ride out as fast as the wind can carry you. You tell the other clans to come! Tell them **Toruk Macto** calls to them-”

Santana raised a single eyebrow of skepticism as Sam continued his speech.

“You fly now, with me! My brothers! Sisters! And we will show the Sky People... that they cannot take whatever they want! And that this... **_this_ is our land**!”

Everyone was quite for a moment, unsure how to respond to this pronouncement.

But then, Brittany began clapping, slowly. Artie cautiously followed her and soon afterward, the entire club was hooting and hollering their approval. Finn clapped Sam on the back, congratulating him for successfully rousing the troops. He bent forward with his hand stretched out and urged the others to do the same.

“C’mon, guys! ‘New Directions’ on three! Ready?”

Everyone gathered in a circle, put their hands in, and shouted in unison as they raised their arms to the sky:

“One, Two, THREE!”

“NEW DIRECTIONS!”

Once the impromptu pep rally was over, everyone started to make last minute preparations for their performance. Quinn tried to count heads for a moment until Santana grabbed her arm and took her aside.

“Is Big-Mouth Billy Bass losing it?” Santana asked.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about that crazy speech about the **Sky People**.” What the hell did you think I was talking about?”

 “Oh,” Quinn blushed. “It’s, uh…it’s some speech from _Avatar_.”

Santana squinted and then motioned for her to elaborate further.

“He likes to quote from it sometimes,” Quinn explained.

Santana rolled her eyes. “WOW. Good thing you two broke up. Really dodged a bullet there, huh?”

As she began to walk off, Quinn shot Santana a dirty look. Her break up with Sam was still a relatively fresh wound, even if she had been the one to initiate it. Quinn was further thrown off guard when a hand snaked around her waist from behind. Quinn gasped and then turned to find Finn standing before her. Her face relaxed as her body eased into Finn’s arms.

“So how did I do? Do you think the gang is sufficiently inspired?”

Quinn smirked as she wrapped her arms around Finn’s shoulders.

“Abraham Lincoln left a message for you. He’d like some help writing this little speech he’s been working on…”

“Stop it! No, but seriously, I was good?”

“You were fantastic! You did what you always do. You held us together.”

“So everyone’s on board now?”

Quinn disengaged from Finn’s grasp as she turned to survey the club once more. “Well, it looks like we might be missing one, but maybe I just counted wrong.”

“Who’s not here?”

Quinn and Finn glanced over the group once more. Finn was the first to realize who was absent.

“Wait…where’s Kurt?”

***

“Kurt!” Finn shouted. “ **KURT**!”

Finn’s voice carried down the cavernous corridor and boomed against the metal lockers. The solemn emptiness of the hallway only served to echo the noise and magnify it to chilling proportions.

“ _Finn_!” Quinn whisper-shouted as she chased after him. “Would you calm down for a minute? We’ll find him.”

“This isn’t like him. None of this is like him,” Finn muttered as he trudged forward. “He doesn’t miss practice or our pre-show pep talks. He doesn’t get nervous before a performance. Rachel said he was _really_ nervous earlier today-”

“Rachel _also_ nearly staged a coup this afternoon with all her complaining,” Quinn reminded him. “Maybe she’s not the most objective person to take into consideration here.”

Finn turned around to regard Quinn carefully.

Like Quinn, Finn had also recently experienced a messy break up with a significant other. Although he was certainly happy being with Quinn, he would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t still mending after his time with Rachel.

 “Are you making this about Rachel? Because this isn’t supposed to be about Rachel. This is about my brother.”

“I’m _not_ making this about Rachel,” Quinn said firmly. “I’m just trying to keep you calm and rational so we can find Kurt.”

Finn nodded and then pressed forward. Quinn trailed after him, a little uncertain of where they stood.

“I understand that you’re concerned, but aside from few missed practices last week and the sudden onset of stage fright today, what else is going on with Kurt that has you so worried? He’s probably just rehearsing in private and lost track of the time or something…”

Finn stopped and turned to face Quinn again. His face was as sad as it was severe.

“Dave Karofsky has been back at McKinley for two weeks now and Kurt hasn’t said a word to me about it.”

Quinn tilted her head in puzzlement. “Well, isn’t that a good thing? No news is good news?”

“Yeah, normally, but some guys on the team told me they saw Karofsky talk to him a few times last week. Nothing serious happened, but still, it’s been bugging me. Whenever I ask Kurt if Karofsky’s been harassing him, he says he hasn’t talked to him _at all_. I’m worried he’s being threatened or blackmailed or something and just can’t tell anyone about it!”

Quinn bit her lip as they started walking again. She knew how painful it was to hold onto secrets. Could Karofsky really be threatening Kurt like that? She hoped Finn was just over-reacting.

The couple stopped at the boy’s bathroom.

“I’m going to check in here. Wait for me, okay?”

Quinn could barely bring herself to nod as Finn started to open the door. His concern for Kurt was contagious, and now the worst case scenario was the _only_ scenario Quinn could picture in her head.

The first thing Finn saw when he opened the door was a flash of denim as a pair of feet shot up from the floor behind one of the stalls. Somehow, they disappeared into thin air and never came back down. Finn edged toward the stall slowly until he noticed bit of fabric draping underneath the door.

He exhaled. Partly out of relief and partly out of frustration.

“Kurt, _c’mon_. I know you’re in there.”

Silence.

Finn crossed his arms and sighed.

“Dude, I can see your scarfy thing. It’s so long it’s almost touching the floor.”

In response to this assertion, the bit of dangling fabric jolted upward beyond his gaze. After a few seconds, he heard a sigh of acquiesce before a pair of feet in bright yellow socks and designer shoes settled down to earth. They softly clicked against the linoleum floor until their owner had successfully backed out of the stall and closed the door behind him.

Kurt turned and faced his brother.

“Who knew my own knack for fashionable accessories would betray me like this?” Kurt asked with a sad giggle.

Finn offered a weak smile to reciprocate.

Kurt shook his head and covered his face with his hands. “I can’t go on tonight, Finn. Please, tell Mercedes to do my part instead.”

“Wait… _what_? Why can’t you go on tonight?”

“I just…I _can’t_. I can’t go on if Miss Pillsbury is there.”

Finn looked dumbfounded.

“What does Miss Pillsbury have to do with anything?”

Kurt huffed out a sigh and started to tear up. He pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes.

“Whoa, whoa! Hold on one sec. Quinn was helping me look for you. She’s waiting outside. I’ll have her run out to the auditorium and check to see if Miss. Pillsbury is in the audience, okay?”

Kurt nodded his agreement in between soft sobs.

Once Finn finished relaying the request to Quinn, he re-entered the bathroom, took Kurt’s hand, and gently guided his stepbrother to the benches located outside in the adjacent corridor.

The brothers, newly minted as such only a month earlier at their parent’s wedding, sat next to each other in awkward silence before Finn finally broke the ice.

“Kurt, c’mon. You _need_ to talk to someone about this. What’s going on with you? What does Miss Pillsbury have to do with…with any of this?”  

Kurt rubbed his nose with the handkerchief. “It’s kind of a long story.”

 “Well, then just give me the Cliff’s Notes version, okay?”

Kurt nodded and took a deep breath before he started.

“I had a meeting with Miss Pillsbury a few weeks ago. She said that my grades were a…a little low and that I needed to consider quitting the glee club.”

Finn’s mouth was wide open. “What? Quit New Directions? Why?!”

“To dedicate more time to learning about history or science or seven other things that I don’t really care about. Nothing that I care about more than performing, that is.”

“Are those the classes you’re not doing so well in?”

“Yeah. It’s not that I hate them, I just haven’t been able to focus lately. Miss Pillsbury said it’s because I have poor time management. I told her I haven’t been sleeping well, but she didn’t believe me. She says that’s only a _symptom_ , not the cause.”

“Well, she has to know that you’ve been a stressed out lately because of Karofsky coming back. Did you talk to her about that?”

Kurt nodded. “She said she spoke to him, and, I hate to admit it, but he’s been an angel ever since he returned. David apologized to me in the hallway and sometimes he even talks to me in between classes. Not like a close friend or anything, but like I’m a person….Which is weird, but definitely preferable to the alternative.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me that when I asked? Why not just come out and say he wasn’t harassing you?”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you, but it’s all been really confusing for me. He’s still hurting me, just not on purpose anymore.”

Finn squinted. You could tell he was repeating the sentence in his head over and over again to no avail.

“I’m going to need some cliffs notes for these cliffs notes.”

Kurt frowned. “It’s not David’s fault, but every time I look at him, all the old pain comes back to me and it’s like I’m being bullied by him all over again. I’m just stuck in that moment of…of _powerlessness_. Sometimes it hurts just to be around him or to even think about him. And I’ve just been having the _worst_ dreams lately…”

“Have you told Miss Pillsbury?”

“If I did she would just recommend therapy or something. Then I’d _definitely_ have to quit glee club.”

“Wait a minute, what about this performance? Did she say you should do it and _then_ consider quitting?”

Kurt looked down at the floor. “Well, not…exactly.”

“Kurt,” Finn said calmly. “Did Miss Pillsbury say that you _had_ to quit or did she say you had to _consider_ quitting Glee Club?”

Kurt got defensive. “Consider! She said ‘consider.’”

“Okay.”

“Of course, there was also a _strongly_ in front of it…”

“ _Kurt_!”

“Okay! Okay! Look, I can manage this on my own. My grades will improve. I’m just going through a rough patch right now. I’m allowed a little consideration for that, right?”

Finn nodded. “It’s not unreasonable, but what about Miss Pillsbury?”

“I heard her talking to Mr. Schu about some special meeting she had today in the evening. She said that she would have to leave the show sometime after the intermission. I thought if we were going last…she would never even see me.”

Finn rubbed his face with his hands.

“So that’s why the change in the line-up freaked you out. That’s why you’ve been so anxious today.”

“Yeah,” Kurt said as he sniffled through a smile. “It really threw a monkey wrench in my master plan. If she sees me perform tonight, well, I don’t know what she’ll-”

“There’s no sign of Miss Pillsbury!” Quinn called out across the hallway to the boys. “Rachel is on in two minutes! If we hurry we can still be on our marks with time to spare!”

Finn grinned at Kurt.

“Well, it looks like you’re Emma-free for the night. Someone upstairs must like you.”

Kurt gave Finn a skeptical look in return. “As good as it feels to have a crisis averted; I don’t think it going to change my opinion about God very much tonight.”

Finn smiled. “I can respect that,” he said as he stretched out his hand to pull Kurt up out his seat. “Now how about we get to the auditorium so that we can blast those _Unitards_ out of here in style?”

“Sounds super,” Kurt said as the two began walking. He wiped his face one last time with the hankerchief.  

Finn placed his arm across Kurt’s shoulders. “And afterwards we can come up with a plan for your grade point average. Maybe a tutor or something. Not me, obviously, but we can look for one together. It wouldn’t hurt for me to get some help with my science classes too…”

“That sounds really good, Finn.”

When the boys finally met up with Quinn, she settled herself between them as they trotted back to the auditorium.

“Is anybody going to tell me why I had to sniff around for ten minutes like a Basset Hound looking for _our guidance counselor_ of all people?”

Finn glanced at Kurt to gauge his reaction. Kurt seemed embarrassed by the question.

“It’s kind of a long story, Quinn. Really funny though. Kurt and I will have to tell you all about it later.”

Quinn cocked one eyebrow of suspicion. She shrugged off the comment as they continued their power walk. When she wasn’t looking, Kurt shot Finn a grateful expression and mouthed the words “ _thank you_.”

***

Sam was temporarily roused from his Gabriel-filled daydreams when he heard a voice announce the end of the intermission. He glanced at his watch again and hoped that this half of the program would be less painful than the first.

 “Everyone, quiet please!” Principal Figgins shouted as he tapped into the microphone. “Please take your seats. We’re about to start the second part of our show, and kicking us off is McKinley’s very own glee club! Everyone, please ‘ _show some love’_ for…The New Directions!”

After a modest round of applause, there was silence. The only noise one could hear was the sound of young woman’s heels walking across the stage toward a grand piano at the far left. The man already at the piano began playing a sweet melody that filled the auditorium. A spotlight hit the stage and illuminated the single figure standing beside the player.

Rachel slowly brought her microphone up to her lips, and began to sing while she traced her fingers across the edges of piano.

[ “Angels” – Jessica Simpson](http://questionableliterarymerit.tumblr.com/post/18691019593/jessica-simpson-angels-sorry-i-needed-to)

“ _I sit and wait._

_Does an angel contemplate my fate?_

_And do they know?_

_The places where we go_

_when we’re gray and old?_

_Cause I’ve been told_

_that salvation let’s their wings unfold_ …”

Rachel moved away from the piano and began walking toward center stage. All the while, the spotlight followed her.

“ _So when I’m lying in my bed._

_Thoughts running through my head._

_And I feel that love is dead…_

_I’m loving angels instead._

She turned to face the audience

_And through it aaaaaaall  he offers me protection._

_A lot of love and affection._

_Whether I’m right or wrong._

_And down the waterfaaaaall, wherever it may take me,_

_I know that life won’t break me._

_When I’ve come to call-_

_He won’t forsake me._

_I’m loving angels instead_ …”

Suddenly, several glee club members appeared behind the Rachel, dressed in choir robes. They began chanting in the background while feverish violins started a call to arms, marking a change in song selection.

Rachel drifted backstage to grab a choir robe so she could join the group. In the meantime, Tina emerged from the opposite side of the stage and drew the audience’s attention to her.

[“Looking for an Angel” – Kylie Minogue](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LSzhMmNonr0&feature=related)

 “ _Sometimes it’s easy. It’s meant to be._

_Dream of the moment. You’ll be with me._

_Cause I wanna look down now. I wanna get deeper._

_Can you let me in?_

_To show me places. To be my keeper._

_I’m waiting for my seraphim_.”

The whole club chimed in for the chorus while Tina waved her arms and attempted to invoke audience participation by clapping along.

“ _Oh, I’m looking for an angel._

_For an angel. Looking for an angel._

_Yeah, I’m looking for an angel. For an angel._

_Looking for an angel.”_

Quinn ran on stage, stood next to Tina, and continued with the next verse.

“ _My heart is ready. My mind is open._

_My body’s aching. I’ll wait for you._

_Cause I wanna rise up now. Don’t want to be earth-bound._

_Reach up to the sky. Into the distance and the future._

_…is waiting for me in your eyes_.”

The entire club came together for the chorus. Everyone in the audience was clapping now.

“ _Looking for an angel. For an angel._

_Looking for an angel._

_Yeah. Looking for an angel. For an angel._

_Looking for an angel.”_

Kurt emerged from the group and stood at center stage. Tina and Quinn flanked him as he sang the bridge.

“ _And when good things are good I want to share them._

_I don’t want to be alone._

_And when darkness falls will you hear my call?_

_And show me the way back home?_

_Cause’ I want this life to be twice as nice with somebody by my side._

_Soon I’ll dream of things, like your golden wings_

_When you carry me I’ll fly_.”

He held the note for an insane length of time while the other club members chanted along.

“ _Cause I wanna look down now. I wanna get deeper._

_Can you let me in?_

_To show me places. To be my keeper._

_I’m waiting for my seraphiiiiim.”_

The Glee club members wearing the choir robes threw them off for the final iteration of the chorus. Underneath they were all wearing white dress shirts and white pants. They danced on stage while they sang.

_“Oh, I’m looking for an angel._

_For an angel. Looking for an angel._

_Yeah, I’m looking for an angel. For an angel._

_Looking for an angel._

_Oh, I’m looking for an angel._

_For an angel. Looking for an angel.”_

Mike Chang picked up Brittany and twirled her around before thrusting her into the sky where she held her hands out like a pair of wings.

_“Yeah, I’m looking for an angel. For an angel._

_Looking for an angel_.”

***

Once the performance was over, Sam jumped to his feet with the rest of the crowd and began clapping wildly. He even used his fingers to whistle his approval.

“Yeah! YEAH! New Directions! Whoo!”

He remained standing for the better part of a minute until a familiar voice shook him from his spell.

“Uh, _Sam_?”

Sam turned beet red the moment he recognized the voice. He slowly shifted his gaze to the left and saw Dean standing next to him. He was shaking his head and grinning viciously.

“As much as I would love to rake you over the coals for this, and please know that eventually I _will_ …we have bigger concerns at the moment.”

Dean presented Sam with a plastic bag containing a yellow powder. Sam took a quick whiff and immediately knew what it was.

  “Sulfur,” Sam said quietly, looking around to see if their security might have been compromised in any way.

“Yup,” Dean answered. “And where there’s sulfurous smoke, there’s usually demonic fire. Looks like the faeries are on our side after all. Or, at the very least, they just wanted to give us a helpful heads up.”

“So what now?” Sam asked. “Wait. Where’s Cas?”

“I told him to stake out the classrooms and reconnoiter us some intel while you and I made with the interviews by playing Mulder and Scully.”

“Are you sure? This is a school. No crime has been committed yet. Cops or feds might seem out of place.”

“Maintenance then?” Dean asked. “We have the jumpsuits. Or school officials? We might have some fake superintendant badges in the glove compartment, but I can’t say for sure. We would have to check the car.”

“HELLO,” a voice rang out from behind them.

Sam startled and Dean actually jumped.

Rachel was breathless from running all the way over after the performance, but still she maintained her composure the best way she knew how…

By talking about herself.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rachel said as she extended her hand to Sam and then Dean. “My name is Rachel Berry, you probably saw me on stage a few moments ago. I contributed my interpretation of Robbie Williams’ unforgettable, power ballad ‘Angels’ to our portion of the talent show.”

Sam started to utter a compliment, but was cut off by Rachel who was still obviously in “presentation mode.”

“Being a somewhat limited cover, it doesn’t really showcase my range or my penchant for songwriting, but I like to think that it still demonstrates a good deal of the unique texture and emotional composition that my voice has to offer."

“It’s very nice to meet you, Rachel,” Sam replied cautiously. “Your rendition was...lovely.”  

“Thank you! The arrangement was inspired by the acoustic version of the Jessica Simpson cover.”

Dean blinked twice. He looked like he was having a hard time staying awake during Rachel’s rant, so Sam nudged him gently. Dean suppressed the urge to roll his eyes or “nudge” Sam back with excessive force.

“We were both very impressed with the work your team did. You should all be very proud.”

Rachel’s face soured slightly once the credit seemed as though it was going to be diluted to include her teammates. She shook off the resentment and beamed brightly as she realized something.

“So it’s true then? I was right? The two of you really are…”

Sam panicked and looked at Dean. They still didn’t have a cover story planned out.

“… _talent scouts_?” Rachel finished in a reverent whisper.

Sam tried not to show too much relief on his face. He shot Dean a quick look that seemed to ask: “ _How did we not think of this earlier_?”

“Yes!” Sam grinned. “My name is, uh, Mr. Hunter and this is my associate, Mr. Thompson. We are talent scouts from Los Angeles looking for hot new acts; individuals with a unique style and real stage presence. But we want _performers_ , Ms. Berry, not just great vocalists.”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean continued. He struggled to add something to the conversation. “We were both really impressed by what you guys did with the, uh, with the…staaaaging.”

Sam clenched his teeth and hoped that Dean’s awkward comment wouldn’t expose their ignorance. Fortunately, Rachel was more than happy to take credit for something she could mark as hers and hers alone.

“THAT WAS ALL MY IDEA,” she shouted. “I wanted for the spotlight to follow me in the opening number like a brilliant, beacon of hope. Mercedes came up with the idea for the choir robes, but _I’m_ the one who insisted we discard them to reveal all-white ensembles underneath. One of the boys actually suggested that we wear black suits and _trench coats_ underneath the robes to create this retro _Guys and Dolls_ look. HA! I mean, we’re singing about angels..what kind of angel would be caught dead in a trench coat?”

Dean laughed. “Well, you’d be surprised.”

Rachel laughed along with him, but then stopped. “HA HA HA-! Wait, what?”

“What he’s trying to say,” Sam interjected. “Is that you would be surprised, uh, how often we come to talent shows like this and then leave woefully disappointed. Would you mind if we talked to you for a moment about your fantastic team and your school?”

Rachel gasped and nodded enthusiastically.

“It would be my pleasure!”

***

Castiel was lost.

Not by virtue of location so much, but purpose.

Dean had asked him to look for suspicious activity in the classrooms, but no matter how hard he tried Castiel simply could not stop revisiting the conversation he had earlier with Sam.

Originally, Castiel’s plan was to abstain from thinking about Dean in any fashion whatsoever. He knew it was an abomination to even _consider_ the notion of angel/human comingling. The amount of biased interaction he had shared with the Winchesters, with humanity as a whole, was bad enough, but to have his intimacy with humans enter a romantic dimension? To defy the host of heaven not just with his will or his grace, but with his earthly body as well? No. It was unfathomable.

It was the _worst_ kind of heresy.

But after he spoke to Sam, for the first time ever, Castiel began to wonder. Was this communion truly the horrible act that he had always believed it to be? Was Sam right about intention? Castiel had been told so many lies by his superiors. Was there any hope that these commandments forbidding that which he desired most, were _also_ hollow at their core?

During the long car ride over, Castiel mused about what might happen if he confessed his feelings to Dean. He feared that the fire of his grace would be reduced to a glowing ember by the time he had finished his work on earth with the Winchesters. And to actualize his feelings for Dean…

Would _that_ be the sin that finally snuffed out his flickering flame?

Sam had made it all seem so easy. So… _feasible_.

But it wasn’t! It just wasn’t!

Castiel could contemplate self-destruction with relative ease. He could comprehend what it would mean to burn himself out for a cause to which he was dedicated. Every angel was prepared to do so if the occasion called for it. But dying (or rather “ceasing to exist” in this case), was only _one_ potential consequence of his hypothetical confession to Dean. More painful than the thought of perishing, more agonizing than annihilation…was the fear of rejection.

Hunger. Thirst. Pain. These were all forms of suffering that Castiel had come to understand and even appreciate to some degree after living in his vessel for so long. They were wondrous miracles that existed in the intersection between the mind and the body. They had definite forms and functions that could be explained and quantified. They had purpose. They were reasonable.

But this breathless longing that he felt for Dean, this desperate affection with its debilitating eroticism and abject vulnerability- it _vexed_ Castiel completely. There were no words in an angel’s language to even _begin_ to explain such feelings. Angels were sexless. They were taught to love only one entity wholly and utterly. And that entity was **not** supposed to be Dean Winchester, the Michael Sword.

And even if divine decree could somehow be disavowed…

Even if ancient law could somehow be amended… 

Even if God _himself_ were to approve of Castiel loving a human being… 

There was still a chance that Dean Winchester would not love him back.

Castiel glanced over at his surroundings. He was in a classroom with music notes on the wall and instruments scattered throughout the space in various zones. Seeing these implements reminded him of the songs of praise he used to sing with his brethren when he was still welcomed among the heavenly host. Castiel slowly walked over to the piano residing in the middle of the room.

“ _Those hymns were meant to calm the spirit and steady the course of one’s grace,”_ he thought to himself. “ _They were meant to reveal our truth and our glory.”_

He sat down at the piano.

Castiel placed his hands above the keys. He hovered over them, nervously.

While he was on earth, in his vessel, he could not sing with the same voice he had in heaven or speak the words only his grace knew how to pronounce, but if he tried- if only he sought to make a joyful noise, whether or not it be glorious, maybe, _just maybe_ -

Something noble…

Something _true_ would finally escape his lips.

With a newfound determination, Castiel began to glide his fingers across the keys. He didn’t know if it was divine will or the residual faerie magic that compelled him to open his mouth and sing, but either way, Castiel no longer had the strength to fight the feeling.

***

Becky was lost.

Not by virtue of purpose so much, but location.

She had found Lima, Ohio and the McKinley campus without issue, but to save her life, she could NOT find a single person who might be able to direct her to the auditorium where the talent show was taking place.

While she wandered the dimly lit halls, she heard the faint sound of piano music playing in the background. Normally Becky would have found such a narrative set-up creepy and suspicious, but the music seemed familiar somehow, so she followed it until she reached what appeared to be some kind of show choir classroom.

Becky could not believe her eyes.

There, seated in the middle of the room, facing away from her, was Dean’s angel, Castiel, playing a piano and singing one of Becky’s favorite Shakespearean sonnets.

She braced herself against the doorframe and stilled her breathing as she watched the performance.

Becky didn’t intentionally quiet herself out of sneakiness or solemnity. She was simply too enthralled to move an inch further from the door and, in a rare moment, actually rendered speechless by what she was witnessing.

[“Sonnet 29” – Rufus Wainwright](http://questionableliterarymerit.tumblr.com/post/15437144971)

“ _When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,  
I all alone beweep my outcast state,  
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,  
And look upon myself and curse my fate.”_

Castiel looked up from the piano and stared forward as he continued.

“ _Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,  
Featured like him, like him with friends possess'd,  
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope…  
With what I most enjoy contented least._ ”

He closed his eyes.

“ _Yet in these thoughts, myself almost despising,  
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,  
Like to the lark at break of day arising  
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate;”_

Castiel kept his eyes closed, but lifted his head skyward.

“ _For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings  
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.”_

Castiel let the final notes linger in the air. Then, he gently lifted his hands from the keys, placed them in his lap, and bowed his head.

And then Becky began to clap.

“ **Bravo! Bravo!”** She shouted, fighting back tears of joy.

Castiel jerked his head around and jumped up from the piano bench. He would have vanished from that spot instantly if his angelic mojo had been working properly, but he couldn’t. Instead, he tried to think of a convincing lie.

“I-I was merely practicing for a singing competition for which I am a coach…and also…a participant.“

Castiel frowned in confusion as he tried to reconcile the shaky details of his own fabrication. He looked around the room nervously.

“Pardon me, I misspoke. Actually, the truth is that I am a custodian at this school who is gifted in the performing arts. I play this piano because-”

 “You can stop with the cover story, Castiel!” Becky said with a warm smile as she began walking toward him. “Don’t worry! I’m a friend of the Sam, Dean, and Chuck the prophet. I know all about the problems you guys have been having with the faerie magic music drama.”

Castiel’s mouth was agape. “Ah. Oh. Wait…you are…Rebecca Rosen?”

“ _Becky_ , please! It’s a pleasure,” she said as she moved to shake Castiel’s hand. “I’m a HUGE fan. I’ve read all about you in Chucks’ prophecies. Some of them three times over!”

“Oh, yes,” Castiel said with a nod. “Thank you.”

Chuck had called Dean while they were traveling to warn the brothers that Becky would be showing up in Lima. Dean had suggested that they threaten her so that she would return home, but Sam, ever sympathetic, pointed out that Becky might be able to help them thanks to her encyclopedic knowledge of their case histories.

 “So,” Becky said. She was obviously holding back a wicked grin. “Was that song meant for someone _special_?”

Castiel blushed. “No. No it was not.” he said firmly. “You must know that the three of us have been breaking out into song at irregular intervals. It is the faerie magic that compels us to do so; we have no choice in the matter!!”

“Right. Of course,” Becky said with an earnest nod. “That’s what Chuck said. I just thought-“

“And we certainly do not have any choice with regard to the content!”

“Right. No, no…I didn’t. I didn’t think that you did,” Becky quaked. Her posture shifted so that her head was cowed a bit in submission. She edged away from him slightly.

Castiel sighed and then sat back down on the piano bench. He was embarrassed that he had become so defensive and taken it out on this innocent, young woman.

“I am sorry for shouting at you, Becky.”

“It’s okay,” Becky said. “You guys must be really stressed out right now. You know, with all the mandatory sing-a-longs…and the apocalypse right around the corner.”

Castiel nodded. “The singing has certainly not made our task any easier to manage in the meantime.”

Castiel looked down and then back up at Becky. He licked his lips before daring to ask the question.

“Did- did it seem as though my song _was_ _intended_ for someone specific?”

 Becky’s face lit up and she began edging back toward Castiel. “No no. Well…I mean, people don’t just go around singing Shakespearean love sonnets for no good reason, especially not in a musical episode. It just seemed, to me, like it was coming from a place deep down inside you. A _meaningful_ place.”

She sat down next to Castiel on the piano bench. He sighed and then spoke again.

“If you had to hazard a guess, who would you suppose…”

“ **Dean**!”

“…the song…was…intended for.”

Becky covered her mouth. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to blurt it out and I don’t want to push you or anything. It just sort of came out. The truth is that I think you two would be SO perfect for each other!”

Castiel was speechless. First Sam Winchester, and now Becky Rosen? To have another human put into words the thoughts that had been paining him for so long now. To know that another person could perceive his innermost feelings for Dean no matter how hard he tried to hide them. To know, in spite of all the controversy, that another person still _supported_ him…

It all felt so surreal.

“I’ve been shipping you guys together ever since Chuck wrote _Lazarus Rising_. Fan fiction. Crude charcoal drawings. I don’t ever stop. I just think about the two of you guys together _all_ the time-”

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. “Wait. I do not understand that term. What is _shipping_?”

Becky blinked. “What?”

“I do not understand the concept of shipping. Why have you been _shipping_ us together? Would you please explain this to me in detail?”

Becky’s stared at Castiel with her mouth slightly open. They continued to stare at each other for a minute until Castiel spoke up.

“Becky? Becky?! What is wrong wi-“

Castiel was momentarily silenced when Becky placed her finger up to his lips.

“I have always dreamt that this moment would come, and now that it’s here, I...I just want to etch every detail of it into my memory!”

Becky moved her finger away from Castiel’s mouth. She shook herself from her stupor, and took in a deep breath.

“Shipping. Wow! Okay, well, I guess we need to start from the beginning.”

Castiel nodded and placed his hands in his lap again, his posture shifted to that of an eager pupil.

“In the late 1960’s there was this show called _Star Trek_ that aired on American television. On that show there were these two officers who _obviously_ had a thing for each other named Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock. Kirk was a hot-blooded, passionate man who acted on his instincts and intuition. Spock’s judgment was governed more so by logic and pragmatism. It’s pretty much your classic “Opposites Attract” set-up that gave way to scads of subtextual sexual tension. Now, this is where fan fiction comes in. You see…”

***

“Ms. Berry, I don’t think you’re hearing us out. We’re asking if you’ve noticed any strange activity occurring at your school these past few weeks,” Sam said with an edge of frustration in his voice.

“Like what?” Rachel asked.

“Any behavior that seems out of place or out of character,” Dean explained. “Or anything unusual. Objects moving when nobody touches them. Accidents that don’t seem so accidental. Coldspots…”

 “People frequently say that when they hear me sing, they get chills. Would that count as a coldspot?” Rachel asked, her smile never ceasing.

Dean glared at Sam. They had spent nearly twenty minutes interviewing Rachel in the hallway across from the auditorium, and they _still_ couldn’t get any decent information out of her.

“I’m sorry,” Rachel began, skepticism creeping into her voice. “But what exactly do coldspots and accidents and moving objects have to do with talent agencies?”

Sam glanced at Dean. Dean raised his eyebrows and spoke confidently.

“We’re talent agents, but we also do some location scouting. Right now we’re working on this new show that’s in preproduction for the History Channel. It’s tentatively entitled: “America’s Haunted-est High School.”

Rachel clutched her hand against her chest. “How exciting! Being on a reality TV show could be a great source of publicity for me! I mean…for us. For the entire New Directions Glee Club, of course!”

Rachel tittered apologetically. Dean forced a laugh and then shot Sam a look of utter desperation. When Rachel wasn’t looking, he mouthed the words _Let’s GO_.

Sam was about to try another line of questioning when he was interrupted by a booming female voice that sounded behind them.

“ **Rachel Berry**! What are you doing away from the shire this late? Shouldn’t you be out wandering with the other hobbits looking for the shortest path into Mordor?”

Rachel huffed. “Coach Sylvester, I’m currently conducting an interview with Mr. Hunter and Mr. Thompson from the Shooting Stars Talent Agency in Los Angeles!”

“Oh ARE you?” Sue asked as she edged in closer to take a better look at Sam and Dean.

“Ms. Sylvester, we just need a few moments more with Rachel.” Sam explained. “Is there some kind of emergency? Is she needed for something?”

“Oh, Rachel isn’t ever needed for _anything_ if you ask me, but facetious remarks aside…I’m going to have to ask you two young men to come with me to my office.”

“What?” Dean asked with a laugh. “Are you going to give us detention?”

Sue faked a smile. “There’s a call for you two. I repeat: In. My. _Office_.”

Sam scoffed. “I’m sorry, but that can’t be true. Our manager would have just used our cell phones.”

“Well _boys_ ,” Sue began. “What if I told you that it was _not_ the “manager” of the “Shooting Stars Talent Agency” that was on the phone for you, but a pair of loveable, idiotic goofballs by the names of Sam and Dean Winchester instead?”

Sam and Dean froze.

“Would you condescend to come by my office then?”

Dean turned to address Rachel. “Ms. Berry, thank you for your time, but…” Dean paused. “We’re going to have to take that call and get back to you later.”

***

Kurt had been watching Rachel from across the hallway the entire time. He couldn’t believe that she had been right about that tall guy _actually_ being a talent agent. He wanted to give them their privacy, so he opted to stay a good distance away while he attempted to read their lips instead.

“Kurt?”

Kurt turned around and was horrified to find Miss Pillsbury standing before him.

“Hello! Miss. Pillsbury...I,” Kurt fumbled. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here…this late.”

“My appointments were rescheduled. I still missed Rachel’s opening, but I came back just in time for the club’s second number.”

Emma held her hands out and then let them drop to her sides. “I saw your performance, Kurt. You were excellent, as always.”

“Miss Pillsbury, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“I’m so _disappointed_ by this behavior, Kurt.” Emma said as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “I was hoping that our little talk would encourage you to take the initiative and cut back on your hours with the glee club. I wanted so much for you to take responsibility for your own education-”

“I will, Miss Pillsbury. Really, I promise that I will!”

“I don’t think you can, Kurt. Because right now it seems to me as if you are doing _the exact opposite_ of that.” Emma shook her head and pursed her lips. “I didn’t want for it to come to this, but I am no longer _recommending_ that you quit glee club. I am _telling you_ that you have to quit the glee club.”

Kurt’s mouth was wide open. He began jawing words but no sound came out.

“And, if you don’t do it yourself, I’ll petition Principal Figgins to put you on academic probation, which will prohibit you from participating in _any_ extracurricular activities. Your parents will get called to come into the office and a mark will go on your permanent record.”

“Miss Pillsbury,” Kurt said with a desperate swallow as he tried to catch his breath. “You don’t understand. Glee club is all that I have. I-It’s my everything. It’s the only place in this stupid school where I can be myself completely. You-you can’t take that away from me. Please!”

Miss Pillsbury sighed and touched Kurt’s shoulder gently.

“What you have been through at this school with Dave Karofsky has been inexcusable. You were humiliated, threatened, and violated. No student, no person, should ever be treated the way that you were treated.”

Kurt nodded. “Thank yo-“

“But the bullying has subsided now, hasn’t it? Dave Karofsky hasn’t laid a finger on you. The threat is gone but the wound is still open. It all still hurts inside, doesn’t it?”

Kurt nodded again, cautiously this time. He had never wanted to tell her how he felt, but somehow she knew. Somehow she had read the truth of it in his eyes.

“If you’re having post-traumatic stress or socialization problems, those are entirely separate issues that require specialized care to manage properly. Finding the time for that care means that you _have_ to rearrange your priorities. Academics and your own mental health _have_ to come first, Kurt. They have to come first before singing and dancing.”

Kurt tightened his lips.

 “I know that glee club is fun and exciting and that you feel comfortable there, but if you keep hiding away in that choir room with the same people who tell you _exactly_ what you want to hear about yourself every day of every week of every year, you’re never going to challenge yourself. You’re never going to grow, Kurt.”

Kurt couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Right now, the glee club is your crutch. It’s my responsibility, as your guidance counselor, to ensure that you learn to walk _without_ a crutch.”

“But-“

“ _Show me_ that you can take responsibility. _Show me_ that you will ask for help and talk to a mental health counselor. _Show me_ that you can focus on your studies and boost your GPA…and then we’ll talk about you coming back to the club, okay?”

Kurt’s mouth was dry. It was nearly impossible to talk. He wanted to shout and cry and scream, but he couldn’t. Instead he opted to fake genial accordance with this horrible new treaty.

“Got a number that I can call to make an appointment?” Kurt asked with a nervous laugh.

Emma smiled. “Come by my office on Monday. I’ll have a number for you then.”

Kurt nodded and barely managed to let out _a thank you_. He was still stunned.

Emma perked up as she noticed Coach Sylvester walking past them with two men dressed in suits. She followed the young men with her eyes before she returned her attention to Kurt.

“Will you excuse me, Kurt?” I have a quick phone call that I need to make in my office.”

Kurt didn’t even manage to nod a reply this time, but it didn’t matter. Emma was already gone.

Kurt began to shamble away from the ruins of his life, when he heard Rachel call out to him from across the hall. She ran to him and hugged him immediately. Without him saying anything at all, she realized that something had gone horribly wrong.

***

“Harmony, I – I don’t think I can do this.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about! We’ve practiced. We know this routine inside and out. What could possibly go wrong?”

Harmony and Gavroche were seated backstage, having a private moment to themselves before their big performance.

“I don’t mean the number. I mean. This. All of this. Harmony, what are we doing here? Wor-working for _him_? Why? Why must we go through with it?”

“Because THIS is the only way for us to usher in the new era! Do you want to go back to singing and dancing day in and day out like a commoner? Face it, Gavroche: We’ve progressed as far as we can in these bodies. There’s no use in us pretending to be something we are not. It was ludicrous to try to do so in the first place. I see that now.”

“But what will become of Kurt? And his friends? We don’t know what he plans to do with them!”

“Now is not the time for a pang of conscience! Nor is it the time to develop *affections* for these fledgling, meat sacks. Mixing with their kind has only ever hurt our people’s cause. You would do well to remember that.”

“But-“

Harmony edged forward. She grabbed Gavroche’s face and stared deep into his eyes.

“So it’s true,” Harmony said as she pushed his face away. “You _have_ developed feelings for the vessel. In Oberon’s name, of all the mortal creatures in the world you had to pick _Lucifer’s vessel_!”

“It is nothing! Truly! I feel nothing for him at all.”

“All those excuses to touch him were becoming a little too frequent and a little too flimsy for my taste. I really should have seen this coming sooner. First the friendly pats on the back. Then the stroking of his sleeves in between practice. And that “good luck hug” from earlier, HA!”

“I have to be in regular physical contact with him! That is not a rule of my making, it is the way the magic **works**! How else am I supposed to reinforce the dream bridge for-” Gavroche cowed his head. “For _you know who_!”

“He isn’t _our_ lord, Gavroche. You can say his name without fear of reprisal. Honestly, we’re above such things.”

“I don’t _want_ to say his name. And I don’t _want_ to do his bidding any longer, Harmony!”

Harmony grabbed Gavroche by the face again. She willed him to look into her eyes.

“Then say _my_ name.”

Gavroche shook his head. “Harmony, don’t.”

“And do _my_ bidding.”

“Harmony, stop…”

“That’s it,” she said as she stroked his face and continued to stare into his eyes. “Listen to my voice and say it again, please.”

“Harmony, don’t do this to me. I’m…I’m your friend.”

“Right now you are dangerously close to being a liability. You knew the costs from the very start of this, my dear, and still, you signed on the dotted line. Well, now it’s time to pay the piper. Now we have to muck about in the dirt with these demons for a little while longer. But don’t you worry, my sweet. You’ll forget all about him once the world goes boom.”

“Forget,” Gavroche repeated, his eyes fully glazed over now. “Forget all about whom?”

“ _Precisely_ , my darling. Forget about nobody. Nobody at all. When the blessed hour comes, Michael and Lucifer will fight their epic battle and either heaven or hell will bow before a new master. In the wake of their feud, the world will be reduced to blood and smoke and ash and rubble…

And, if we play our cards right, it’s not the meek who shall inherit the earth. Oh no...”

Harmony leaned in so that her lips were right next to Gavroche’s ear.

“ ** _We_** _will_.”

***

Emma Pillsbury walked into her office. She opened her desk and picked out a black, plastic trash bag, which she took with her to the nearby faculty restroom.

Once she entered the restroom, she took care to lock the door behind her. After she checked her make-up in the mirror, she lit a candle, turned out the lights, and pulled out a large, flat copper plate from the bag.

From the same bag she removed a knife and a tiny Tupperware tub that contained several human eyeballs rolling around inside it. The eyes jostled as she opened the lid and set the tub aside.

Emma began chanting as she cut into her hand. She made a fist with her wounded appendage and held it over the copper plate until the blood pooled and formed a perfect circle. Then, she removed one of the eyeballs from the Tupperware and ran it across the circular edge of the plate. Once. Twice. Thrice.

She popped the eyeball into her mouth while she waited for the mirror to fog up. A feminine silhouette began to form. Smoke and fog continued to swirl around the mirror until, finally, the image was clear.

“You know,” Meg said. “You could just call me on my cell phone next time. You’ll save on organs in the long run.”

“I’m old-fashioned,” Emma explained with her mouth still full. She swallowed and smoothed out her dress. “And I didn’t want to risk communicating over a connection that wasn’t sacred.”

Meg almost yawned in response. She was obviously displeased with this intrusion.

“So what’s up, Emma? How are the kiddies?”

“Everything is going according to plan. I’m making headway with the vessel and I suspect the faeries will have the dream bridge finished by the end of next week at the latest. But we have a…a _fly_ in the ointment.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t wish to alarm you, but there might be a minor security issue afoot. It seems as though-”

“Spit it OUT, Emma!”

“ _It’s the Winchesters_ ,” Emma whispered, her eyes glossing over with an inky blackness.

“ _They’re here_.”


End file.
